Colors
by unicornball
Summary: This will be a daily, month-long prompt challenge from the Destiel Writers (& Readers) Facebook group. Everyday will have a different color as a prompt. (Destiel. Some will be AUs. Most will be rated T and under, but a few will be M so I rated this M overall.) Complete.
1. auburn (rated K)

_(A/N: Rated **M** for mature content and language._

 _This will be a daily, month-long prompt challenge from the_ Destiel Writers & Readers Facebook group _. Everyday will have a different color as a prompt. Most will be rated T and under, but a few will be M so I rated this M over all._

 _Ratings will vary, so check each chapter. They'll be labeled. (This also goes for any other warnings/tags that are applicable per chapter.)_

 _This is the first in a month-long prompt. Today's color:_

auburn. /ˈôbərn/ adjective

(chiefly of a person's hair) of a reddish-brown color.

 _Naturally, I was inspired to do a Cas-centric fic. I know he's not what I'd describe as auburn, but hey— with some artistic license, it's close enough for me (and Dean)._

 _Overall warnings/tags: MalexMale slash. AUs. Canon-divergent. Language. Sexual content. Fluff. Occasional Side-pairings._

 _Enjoy.)_

* * *

Dean's staring. He knows he is. But he can't seem to help it. Cas is riding shotgun (having won 3 out of 5 rock-paper-scissors against a pouting Sam) and it's distracting.

More distracting than usual with Cas in the backseat and safely out of easy view.

So distracting. Even though Cas is just sitting there, minding his own business as he stares placidly out the window, occasionally mouthing the words to the tape Dean has playing softly.

It's not Cas' fault he's distracted.

That shit is all on Dean. Or maybe it's the sun's fault. That's what's distracting him from keeping his eyes safely on the road. The damn sun shining through the window and making Cas look all kinds of distracting. The light is surrounding Cas in a way he can only call 'ethereal'. It's weird to see the way it highlights and bounces off the blue in Cas' eyes. The way it makes a nice silhouette of Cas' profile.

And it's doing weird things to Cas' hair. Up until this point, Dean would have said it was brown. Dark brown if pushed for more description, plain and mostly uninteresting once Cas learned how to use a comb and didn't walk around with sex-hair all the time. But right now, he's seeing all sorts of highlights and bright colors he hasn't noticed before. He squints, nodding to himself. Yeah, even little bit of red towards the crown of Cas' head. It's not really noticeable unless he really looks—and Cas turns his head just so so the light catches it.

Auburn. Cas definitely has some auburn in there. He stares at the little tuft curling around Cas' ear and wonders if that would have any interesting colors in it if Cas were facing the sun.

He startles and puts his attention back on the road when Sam clears his throat with an obnoxious sound. He shoots a glare into the rearview mirror, scowling for good measure when Sam has the nerve to smirk at him.


	2. salmon (rated M)

_Today's color:_  
Salmon  
salm·on/ˈsamən/  
noun

Salmon is a range of pale pinkish-orange to light pink colors, named after the color of salmon flesh.

 _I dare say the use of the daily word was a bit of a stretch this time but it still counts since it does get used. heh_

 _This chapter is rated **M** for sexual content._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Cas had _that look_ on his face the entire way back to the motel, eyes intent, gaze boring into the back of his head from the backseat. It was hard to concentrate on driving and talking to Sam with those damn eyes on him the whole way.

Sam ignored them with practiced ease, doing the post-hunt jabbering to fill the tense silence. His hand was pressed against his bruised ribs, but he was otherwise fine. He figured Sam was just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.

He was fiddling with his phone and Dean knew he was itching to text Eileen. A few more grunted answers whenever Sam tried to initiate conversation and he knew Sam would stop talking and get to it.

Dean shifted in his seat a little, grimacing at the pain in his back and the pull at the stitches in his upper arm a little. He'd had worse but Cas was acting like he'd nearly been killed.

He met Cas' eyes in the rearview mirror, hating the bruise purpling his cheek and the blood crusted around his nose and upper lip. But Cas was OK, too. Alive and aware, breathing nice and easy and looking mildly pissy as usual.

The car was barely in park when Sam threw open the door, closing it with a squeaky slam. Dean stared after him, brain catching up to the fact Sam was headed to a different room.

Well son of a bitch. He and Cas had their own room for the night. Safely away from Sam's.

It was almost Pavlovian how his body perked up, aches and pains fading to the background as he met Cas' eyes again. Cas looked just as crazed as he felt.

As tempting as it was to slide into the backseat instead of waiting, he wasn't in the mood for cramped spaces that invariably lead to cricked necks, heads bumping the roof or elbows cracking into windows.

He got out, the sound of his door closing the same time as the back door. Cas crowded him against the closed door, eyes intense and hands on his shoulders. Dean stood still and let Cas look him over. It wasn't a close enough call to explain Cas' actions but he knew better than to complain. Cas would still manhandle him until he was satisfied and Dean wouldn't get anything fun at the end.

Cas' hands slid down his chest and Dean had to stop him when Cas' fingers hovered over his belt.

"Let's head inside," he murmured. Cas grabbed his arm and he had to hurry to keep up.

Dean dug the keycard from his pocket, hands starting to shake minutely with anticipation. He barely got a glimpse of the 90s chic decor of their motel room—faded salmon and turquoise _everywhere_ —before Cas filled his field of vision.

Dean wasn't surprised he was pressed against the shoddy motel room door the moment it closed.

He sighed into the kiss, Cas tentative as usual when he was hurt. It didn't take long for Cas to groan deep in his throat and lick into his mouth, hands gripping Dean tight, but still careful of where he'd been stitched and bruised.

He let his arms drop when Cas tugged at his jacket, neither of them parting long enough for Cas to let his need for skin on skin said aloud. Cas stripped him with efficiency, hands roaming everywhere as he exposed skin. Dean just went with it, used to Cas' need to check him over like this. He leaned away from the door just long enough to get his shirts off, hips arching forward so Cas could yank down jeans and underwear.

Since Cas couldn't heal with a touch anymore, Cas got a little more hands-on after a hunt. Especially if Dean got tossed around and took a handful of claws to his body.

Dean gave a light push to Cas' chest until he backed away a little. He looked at Cas, hands settling on Cas' sides. He tightened his grip, grounding Cas as much as himself. He gave a reassuring smile and slid his hands up to cup Cas' neck and jaw, fingers shaking a little as he touched the bruise.

He hated that Cas could bruise now. But it was the worst of it and he tried to let his fear go.

He barely got Cas' pants open, a deft flick of his wrist to pop the button and drag the zipper down, before Cas was pressing against him again, like the sound of the zipper parting was some sort of cue.

Dean didn't even care he was bare-assed against the faded wallpaper, the abstract salmon and turquoise design a blur in his periphery since Cas was moving in close. He groaned with pleasure when a fist wrapped around him before he could protest or get Cas more naked. Cas pushed into his space, chests bumping, knee firm and solid between his thighs, stubble rasping and burning Dean's cheek and neck as Cas nipped and kissed down his neck, hand moving with sure strokes.

He squirmed a little since he couldn't move much, Cas was deceptively strong even without his mojo. He moaned and just relaxed into it, hips stuttering into Cas' fist when he started working him. It didn't take long; he was too keyed up and Cas knew just how and where to touch to get him going hard and fast. Cas' mouth hot and hungry on his, panting wet and dirty into Dean's before moving to nip and suck at Dean's neck and jaw. Cas' hand perfect and tight, slick and fast, and Dean was coming over Cas' fist with a guttural moan.

It took Dean a moment to realize Cas was still rutting against him, gasping wet and loud into Dean's neck. He took a minute, catching his breath and for the wobble in his knees to fade before he slid down the wall, landing in a messy sprawl at Cas' feet. Cas was staring down at him, eyes dark, mouth parted and red-bitten and wet.

Goddamn he was a sight.

Dean groaned softly and leaned in to nuzzle at Cas' thigh, nosing the crease between hip and thigh. He heard Cas groan as his hips twitched forward, eager to get Dean's mouth on him. He was just as eager, licking his way across, dragging his chin along the sensitive skin, palms dragging along the fine hairs on Cas' thighs. He hummed softly at the scent and taste of Cas filling his senses, lips and tongue teasing the base.

He slid his hands up Cas' thighs, around his hips to grab a firm cheek in each hand, kneading a little. As annoying as it was for Cas to slip out of bed at ass o'clock to jog with Sam, it did amazing things for his ass and Dean shamelessly fondled him. He hummed when Cas' hands settled on him, one in his hair and one on his shoulder, hips twitching forward again. He licked down and finally slid Cas into his mouth, reveling in the gravel-deep groan Cas made as he stopped teasing and bobbed his head down.

He gave his own muffled, pleased groan at the feel Cas heavy and wet and perfect on his tongue. He'd probably never admit how much he liked this—on his knees, Cas' dick in his mouth—but he didn't think he had to. Cas seemed to know, judging by the look Cas gave him as he looked down and watched Dean.

Cas' eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan and it was the only warning he had before Cas was gripping him tight, going still with a hard thrust of his hips as he came. Dean couldn't help showing off, swallowing around Cas and pulling off with an obscene wet sound that always made Cas twitch and sigh.

He caught his breath, forehead resting on Cas hip for a moment. Once he heard Cas' breathing settle, he worked Cas' pants off before getting to his feet, hiding a wince as his knees protested. Cas was orgasm lazy, body moving with ease as Dean carefully unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the messy pile of his own discarded clothes.

He didn't comment when Cas slotted their fingers together and tugged him towards the bed. They flopped gracelessly, ending up in a tangled sprawl for before separating, still flushed and sweaty.

Dean kept their hands linked, looking over at Cas with a soft smile. Part of him had grown to hate the Hunt, the risk to them all now that they have something good to live for. But another still thrived on it; the rush of a job well done, knowing they'd helped people, sometimes even saved people. Being together with Cas and Sam doing something he was good at. Something that mattered.

He groaned softly as he stretched, feeling thoroughly spent and looser than he had in... awhile. It was almost like being drunk—without the aftertaste of whiskey and threat of hangover. Everything was still pleasure-numb and he ached in so many places, but it was still awesome.

Cas was splayed out next to him, starfished on the bed and looking smug. So smug Dean almost wanted to pinch him.

Not that the smug little bastard hadn't earned the look.

He flopped over, throwing an arm and a leg over Cas' side, too blissed and sated to give a shit he was basically snuggling. Cas' hand settled on his back and he managed to get a little closer.

He let his eyes close, enjoying the warmth of Cas and the exhaustion that came from a long day and awesome sex. He hummed softly when Cas' hand slid into his hair, dexterous fingers perfect against his scalp, and he felt the soft press of lips on his temple.


	3. bronze (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Bronze

adj. noun  
A metallic yellowish-brown color

 _This fic will also include the Mythical Monday, in a way. It's time for some magically-cursed-with-wings Dean!_

 _This chapter is rated **K+** for some coarse language._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean _told_ Sam poking around the Men of Letters storage rooms was a bad idea. He'd said it every time Sam came up from the basement with a dusty box and that geeked out, excited expression on his face. He'd sigh and roll his eyes but he'd always helped Sam paw through the box, helping his gihugic nerd of a brother catalog whatever he found.

He looked around, the stupid fucking artifact responsible for this whole clusterfuck still in his hand. It was lightweight wood, carved crudely enough he'd had to pick it up to tell what it was.

Which lead to this whole... thing. He startled when his weight shifted suddenly, awkward and jerky, nearly falling on his face. He looked over his shoulder to see bronze feathers, wings arched stiffly with his agitation.

Great. Just great. He had freaking wings now.

}°{

Dean considered hiding in his room until be found a way to get back to normal, but he needed coffee for this shit. So, of course, Sam walked in the kitchen just as he was pouring the freshly made coffee into his favorite mug.

"Holy shit!"

Dean startled with Sam's yell, mug clattering to the counter. He spared a moment to be grateful he didn't bump it to the floor before turning and giving his brother a glare.

His nosy brother that was supposed to be out on a supply run for at least another hour. Dammit.

"Hey, Sammy," he said in a carefully bland tone and went back to his coffee. He needed sugar today. He stirred the sugar in, ignoring the heavy feel of Sam's eyeballs on his back as he stared. But his wings were twitching and puffing a little, making it real hard to pretend this was just another Monday in the Bunker.

He turned and sipped his coffee, mentally patting himself on the back he was able to tuck his wings up and out of the way. (He might've spent a little time practicing. It was practical, okay?)

"No Tinkerbell comments, capiche?" he said, eyeing Sam over his mug. Sam blinked a few times and nodded, hands raised. He sighed when Sam's forehead scrunched with confusion, his brother's eyes darting to the wings every so often.

He braced himself for the questions.

"So," Sam started slowly, staring at the wings twitching behind Dean. They were pretty badass, really. Huge, judging by the span he saw when Dean jumped earlier. The feathers were a rainbow of browns, but mainly a rich bronze color that sort of matched Dean's hair.

He pointed in the general direction of the impossible to ignore wings. "What happened, Dean?"

"Winchester luck," Dean said and rolled his eyes. Then he rolled his shoulders because damn wings were heavy. He could feel them twitching again and worked on relaxing. They were damn annoying.

Sam grinned and pointed at Dean. "You were playing with the Men of Letters stuff again."

"No," Dean said with a scoff. "I was cataloging like you wanted me to. It ain't my fault some yahoo didn't label their shit 'caution: may cause wings'."

Dean glared some more when Sam only laughed at him. He figured it was better than some of the other curses they'd seen listed in the archives (boils, deadly diseases that made Ebola look like the sniffles, killer monsters), but he still had wings.

Before he could tackle his brother, Sam was clearing his throat and calling for Cas in a sing-song voice. Loudly, loud enough they probably heard the asshole in Missouri.

Dean barely even had time to put his mug down before they heard the sound of Cas' socked feet rushing down the hall.

It wasn't like he wasn't going to tell Cas, but he'd needed some time first. Figure out how long it would last before Cas saw at invariably got—

— _that_ look on his face. Surprise, confusion and a hint of pain that made it clear his own lack of wings were still a painful subject. (Dean was pretty sure it would be for a long time. That didn't seem like the kinda thing a guy that used to be an angel of the Lord got over quickly.)

He kinda wanted to sock Sam for calling Cas and putting that look on his face.

"Hey, Cas," he said, waving half-heartedly, breaking the awkward silence. He could feel his wings twitch and flutter, lifting off his back a little. Cas' eyes were wide, staring at them.

Castiel shuffled into the kitchen, brushing past Sam without care. He was staring but he couldn't help it. He was only a foot away from Dean now, gaze still on the bronze feathers. They were beautiful and he could appreciate their beauty, even if it made his chest feel a little tight in a decidedly unpleasant way.

He reached out and brushed a finger over one of the shiny primaries. It was soft and warm. Dean was still, eyes wary and pained.

"What happened?" he asked, voice soft.

Dean cleared his throat, grateful Sam had slipped away at some point. Probably when Cas started fondling his feathers...

He couldn't help leaning into Cas' touch, wing arching up without his permission. His shoulders relaxed a little when he saw the corner of Cas' mouth twitched up in a small smile.

"Got whammied by something in the archives."

Castiel hummed softly in understanding. They'd been working on cataloging the Men of Letters contents on their down time. He dropped his hand, preparing to step back, but Dean's wing flapped at him insistently like a pushy cat wanting a petting. He chuckled softly and went back to sliding his fingers through the feathers.

He got lost in the quiet, intimate moment. Pleased to see Dean relaxed and leaning closer. It wasn't a secret that Dean enjoyed being touched, tactile even in everyday interactions, but he didn't expect Dean to be this comfortable with the new appendages.

"How long will it last?"

Dean shrugged, wings fluttering gently before going lax in Cas' hand again. "Dunno, the paper with it was all chicken scratch I couldn't read."

Castiel hummed again, intent on finding the paper and seeing if he could understand the language. He had an idea was Enochian. But he was enjoying the quiet moment.

He looked up with surprise when Dean's hands settled on his waist, their toes nearly touching with how close Dean was standing. The look of concern made him smile a little and wrap his arms around Dean, being careful of the wings.

"It's okay," Castiel murmured, touched Dean would be aware of his possible discomfort. He was okay, though. He did miss his own wings, of course, but he'd made peace with it long ago.

He sunk into the hug, humming softly as Dean's hands slid down his back in comfort. He pressed a soft kiss to the spot behind Dean's ear and leaned back.

"Let's go see if we can figure this out," Castiel said, sliding a hand down Dean's arm to link their fingers. He huffed a soft laugh when he felt the soft brush of feathers on his shoulder.

He let Dean lead the way, seeing the small figure and piece of rolled parchment next to it sitting on the middle of the table.

Dean stood as patiently as he could as Cas picked up with paper, eyes squinted (making a mental note to get him some reading glasses) as he read. He realized he was standing close, wing draped over Cas' shoulder, when Cas shifted his weight and pressed closer.

"The effects should wear off within the next forty-two hours," Castiel said, putting the parchment down.

He eyed Dean shrewdly, "Why didn't you wear gloves?" he asked. By now they've all gotten in the habit of wearing gloves when sorting and cataloging. Not many items were dangerous to the touch, but enough were to make it a smart precaution.

Dean huffed and ended up thwacking the back of Cas' head playfully with a wing. He'd forgotten, okay? Cas didn't have to be a little shit about it.

"So," he said, ignoring the question, "nearly two days, huh?" Cas nodded and he grinned. "Wanna groom me?" he asked with a suggestive eyebrow dance.

Castiel just laughed but he was quite sure he'd have a hard time saying no.


	4. olive (rated K)

_Today's color:_

Olive  
Ol·ive (ˈäləv/)  
adj.  
grayish-green, like an unripe olive.

 _I was inspired by Dean's olive jacket. (One of these days I'm going to post one of these fics on time and have a little party lol)_

 _This chapter is rated **K+** for some language._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

In the time Dean has known Cas, he was used to the guy doing some weird shit. But this—Cas standing in the foyer, staring at their coats—probably takes the cake. He has a feeling Cas has been standing there since they got home, an hour ago.

He clears his throat and feels a little bad when Cas startles, looking at him with surprise-wide eyes.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel smiles, body feeling light and warm as it usually does in Dean's presence. "Hello, Dean."

Thankfully Dean doesn't ask why he's been standing in the foyer, lost in thought and looking at their coats. He doesn't think he'd have a satisfactory answer. Dean's fist bumping his shoulder breaks him from his renewed reverie.

"Hungry?" Dean asks, figuring he'll let the weird moment go. If Cas wants to talk about later, at least they can do it on full bellies.

Castiel nods slowly, surprised to realize he is indeed hungry. Dean pats his shoulder again and tells him to wander into the kitchen in 20 minutes.

He nods absently, gaze already sliding back to the coats. It's strange that olive hanging next to tan would affect him like this. But it's the symbolism that's making him warm with affection, feeling awed and humbled.

He knows Dean thinks nothing of placing his jacket on the peg, a habit he started when he was 'nesting' and enjoying having a steady roof over his head. A home for himself and Sam, somewhere safe he didn't hesitate opening to Castiel.

He steps closer, fingers lightly brushing olive canvas. It's surprisingly soft. Sturdy and still in wearable condition, but soft with age and numerous washings. His gaze flicks to his own trenchcoat, just as worn and soft. It had felt odd to take it off the first time and he remembers the bright eyed look of surprise Dean gave him when he hung it up. The way Dean stared at the garments hanging from hooks for a long moment, eyes suspiciously bright. The slow smile that grew on Dean's face.

He still cherishes that smile. The brightness that made Dean's eyes practically light up, the corners crinkled. Sam had looked just as pleasantly surprised, clapping him on the shoulder as he left the room. He'd barely noticed, too caught up in looking at Dean (and is a common occurrence, he knows 'getting a beer' is Sam's way of politely excusing himself from their 'moments).

It had taken him a little while to realize why the Winchesters reacted that way. He'd then felt bad, like an unworthy and unreliable friend. Of course, Dean noticed his silence and cornered him while he was washing the dishes.

It'd been difficult to look at Dean and admit his failings, but he did it because he'd promised himself he'd be open with Dean. Even if it made his face burn with embarrassment, his belly feel tight and unsettled with shame.

Dean had been quiet for a long moment, eyes on the dishtowel in his hand. He didn't expect Dean's hand to slide up his arm, cupping the back of his neck warmly. He dropped the fork he was washing to look at Dean, so many questions on the tip of his tongue. But he'd been rendered speechless by the intimate touch and feared he'd ruin the moment and Dean would drop his hand.

"Cas, we've all fucked up now and then. And yeah, maybe I wish you'd've stuck around a little more but it's not like I ever asked," Dean said softly, gaze on the way his thumb was lightly stroking Cas' neck.

He sighed, stepping closer. "I never knew how to ask," he admitted. Cas always had somewhere to be, something to do, he'd always felt like an idiot for wanting him to stay. Most times it was just because there was a movie marathon on or a fresh 6 pack cooling in the fridge that he didn't want to drink alone.

Castiel stared, lost for words. He hadn't thought of that... That as many times as he'd wanted to stay, Dean had wanted it too.

Dean pressed closer, gaze dropping to Cas' parted mouth for a long moment before meeting Cas' eyes.

"Just so you know, I always want you to stay."

Castiel made a soft sound and still isn't sure who moved first. He just remembers that first kiss. It was awkward until he shook off the surprise and turned into Dean, pressing closer and kissing with purpose. His hands fluttered uselessly for a moment until he rested a tentative hand on Dean's hip.

The sound that came from Dean had him pressing closer, confidence soaring even higher when Dean's hands cupped his face and he deepened the kiss, licking into Dean's mouth. The low moan Dean made as their bodies pressed closer had him feeling dizzy, sliding a hand down Dean's body on an instinct he didn't know he had.

He still wonders what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted.

Thankfully, that wasn't the last kiss and he tries not to initiate anything if Sam is home. It's just better for everyone that way. (He doesn't think there's actually a way to bleach your brain but he'd like to avoid Sam feeling the need to do so, even if Dean finds it endlessly amusing.)

Dean's hand on his shoulders finally has him breaking the staring contest with Dean's jacket. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at Dean, turning to wrap his arms around him and rest his forehead on Dean's.

He can feel Dean chuckle but Dean doesn't ask him about his strange mood. Just nuzzles his nose with his own and places a soft kiss on his mouth, standing there with him in the quiet moment.

It's just as well; he doesn't think he could begin to explain it in a way that makes sense (and doesn't make Dean think his cheese has slid off his cracker). Dean breaks the moment with another kiss and a pat to his back.

"C'mon, dinner's ready. It's your turn to set the table."

Castiel nods and follows Dean.


	5. azure (rated M)

_Today's color:_  
Azure  
Az·ure (aZHər/)  
adjective

bright blue in color, like a cloudless sky.

 _Well, that made this pretty obvious what I'd be inspired to write lol I also worked in_ Wing Kink Wednesday _because it's my jam and this is a fic all about Cas, so it was inevitable. (It's set around season 5ish, but it's not episode-specific.)_

 _This chapter is rated **M** for language and sexual situations. Prepare for wing kink!_

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Castiel pops into Dean's motel room. He pauses for a moment, unsure if he should surprise Dean. It's been some time since Dean availed himself to a willing, local woman and he has no interest in interrupting.

But, thankfully, Dean is alone. Even Sam is out.

He stumbles into a table and winces.

Dean is up like a shot, gun cocked and pointed at the sound before his eyes are even fully open. He blinks a few times, tossing his gun on the bed the moment he recognizes Cas' silhouette.

"Cas?"

Castiel shuffles closer to Dean, head lowered. He's not sure it was wise to come. He's interrupted Dean's sleep and that always makes for a grumpy Hunter.

"Dean. My apologies," Castiel murmurs, stumbling again with a grimace. Before he can fall, Dean is there, hands around his upper arms and holding him upright.

"Cas? You okay?" Dean asks, concern in his voice. He hasn't seen Cas like this often, weak and exhausted, but it's not usually a good sign. Cas leans into him with a soft grunt and he adjusts his grip and footing to take the angel's weight.

Castiel shakes his head once. "No," he admits softly. He can't keep from leaning into Dean, soaking up his warmth and strength. It surprises him how much he just wants to crawl into the lumpy bed with Dean and sleep for a week.

"I've—" He swallows thickly, eyes closing with exhaustion. "I've expended quite a bit of energy during my search."

Dean hums and takes a bit more of Cas' weight. He bites back the urge to tell Cas, again, that he's on a pointless errand, that his deadbeat dad isn't worth Cas exhausting himself. He knows Cas will listen about as well as he would so he focuses on something else.

He grunts softly as he shifts Cas. "Your Grace on E, man?"

Castiel huffs a tired laugh, understanding Dean's meaning. "Not entirely, Dean."

He wobbles when he tries to find his own feet and clutches at Dean's shoulder, his Grace flaring weakly as he brushes the faded Mark on Dean's shoulder. That subtle pulse, which is usually a bright starburst, is indicator enough he's dangerously weakened.

"I need to sleep," Castiel says, a hint of frustration in his voice at the very idea. He looks at Dean imploringly.

Dean sighs softly, but he's already nodding. Like he'd actually be able to say no...

"Yeah, okay, sure, Cas," he murmurs, moving them closer to the bed, struggling a little under the sheer weight of Cas. Dude must really be worn out if he's not able to keep his true-form light and Jimmy-sized.

Before Cas can flop onto the bed, Dean yanks the trench coat off. Cas doesn't usually care about comfort, but Dean fully intends to make him as comfortable as possible. Cas is mostly dead-weight but helps when he can, lifting arms and feet so Dean can get him down to his boxers and undershirt.

Cas yawns widely and blinks owlishly at him and Dean is nearly overcome with the urge to kiss him. It's not a new feeling, unfortunately, but it's wrong to even think it when Cas can't even keep his eyes open and blinking in sync.

He lets go and Cas basically face-plants onto his pillow, body relaxing and sleep-pliant moments later. Dean takes a deep breath, watching Cas' back move with deep breaths as he sleeps, oddly OK with Cas hogging his bed.

Dean looks to the other bed but pushes the idea away. Sam will be pissed if he comes back and there's no bed for him to fall into after hours at the library (and Dean will be pissed if Sam decides to share with Cas). So, he flops onto the mattress next to Cas, grumbling and grunting a little as he works the covers out from under Cas and tucks them both in.

He figures he'll be up for a few sleepless hours, unused to having someone next to him, too aware of Cas' heat and weight next to him, but he's fallen back asleep before he's even aware of it.

*✲ﾟ*｡*ﾟ✲*

Dean wakes slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. A warm weight against his back has him carefully turning his head, memory hazy as to why there'd be someone in his bed.

Oh.

Cas.

Right, the energizer angel was low and needed somewhere to recharge.

Part of him warms at the thought Cas would come to him, knowing he'd be safe and wanted. Another part prickles with irritation that Cas would wear himself out so damn bad— determined in his search, almost to the risk of his own well-being.

Not that he can really toss stones at someone for risking themselves for family... He just hates seeing Cas like this.

He glances at the clock—6:29 AM—and settles back into bed. It's too damn early to be up yet and Cas is still sleeping. He closes his eyes and tries to get back to sleep.

It's not long after that he's being tickled. He brushes at his arm, frowning. "Dammit, Sam. Knock it off."

"Apologies," Castiel murmurs, removing his wing with an effort.

Dean opens his eyes. Sam isn't looming over him with a feather duster and a grin. He rubs a fist into his eye and looks around the room to see the other bed still empty. He looks over his shoulder. At Cas. Looking oddly adorable all sleep rumpled and pink-cheeked. He frowns again, wondering why the hell Cas is tickling him, when he sees them.

Wings.

Big, dark wings.

"What the f—?" he breathes out, staring openly. One of the wings twitch and he pulls his gaze away with an effort, somehow knowing his staring is embarrassing Cas. "Dude."

Castiel shifts with unease. His wings flutter with his discomfort but don't retract like he wants. It's frustrating and a sure sign his Grace isn't anywhere near repleted. Dean is staring again, eyes wide, cheeks lightly pink, lips parted with... awe? It's probably the first time Dean's ever looked at him like this; like he realizes that he's a powerful being. His wings flutter with pleasure without his conscious permission.

He narrows his eyes and looks at Dean closely. "Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean mumbles, distracted. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch, but he has a feeling that's a big ass no-no, so he fists both hands in the blanket. Cas doesn't say anything and he finally looks away from Cas' (awesome, beautiful) wings to meet his eyes. He must still be asleep because this is unbelievable. Even for him. "What's with the wings, man?"

OK, he knew Cas had wings. He saw the damn things whenever Cas was tapping into his angel mojo hardcore, but that was only in shadow. He doesn't think Cas has ever flashed actual wing before and he can't stop staring. The room is too dark to see very well, but he's pretty sure there's some blue in there. A muted azure that almost matches Cas' eyes and he's just. Staring. He hasn't given any thought to what Cas' wings actually look like before. He's pretty sure he never would've come up with _this_.

He's leaning closer before he can really even think about it. Cas doesn't shy away, though. Not like he'd expect. Instead, one of the massive wings twitches and sweeps towards him, feathers brushing his cheek and shoulder. It's soft, softer than anything he's ever felt before and he's at a loss how to describe it.

"Why can I see your wings, Cas?" Dean asks softly, fingers brushing along a long, wide feather. He figures since Cas touched first, he can too. He expects something smoky and ethereal, not something solid like any of the bird's feathers he used to find and collect as a kid.

Castiel clears his throat, unnerved by the warmth and tingling he can feel from Dean's touch. It's radiating from the point of contact and sweeping all through his body. Dean shouldn't even be able to see his wings, let alone touch them. But it feels wonderful and he's not strong enough to refuse.

"My Grace—" he says softly, eyes half-closed as Dean's hand glides smoothly down his primaries. The rest of what he was going to say is forgotten, lost in a haze of sensation of Dean being so close and touching him, hands gentle on such an intimate part of him. His feathers fluff a little at the touch, wings arching towards Dean. He can't remember the last time another has touched his wings and he can't help himself.

Dean nods distractedly, fingers digging into feathers when Cas doesn't tell him to stop. They're so soft and warm, he feels it up his whole arm. "Yeah, I figured wings and Grace went together," he murmurs, gaze following his hand as he pets down the big feathers near Cas' back.

The little feathers underneath are puffy and softer, he wiggles his fingers in. Cas gasps sharply and he jerks his hand away. Jesus, he'd been so zoned out on petting Cas' feathers, he didn't even think if he'd be hurting them.

"Oh, shit. Sorry!"

Castiel slowly shakes his head and swallows thickly. He doesn't want Dean to be sorry—it had felt good. Warm pleasure still lingers in his belly. Dean's expression is pinched with concern and guilt. "It's... it wasn't pain," he says, choosing his words carefully.

"No?" Dean asks slowly, eyeing Cas closely for any half-truths. Cas shakes his head, eyes darting away. He reaches out and touches again, fingers gliding through sleep-mussed feathers, eyebrows raised as he watches Cas for signs of discomfort or pain. Dark wings sweep towards him again, the feathers brushing his cheek, fluffed up and soft. Cas makes a soft sound, eyes fluttering closed.

It takes a moment for him to realize— _Oh_.

"Oh," Dean breathes out, eyes wide. Cas _likes_ it. It feels good. Son of a bitch. What does it say about him that he wants to bury his hands in Cas' feathers and hear that sound again? "D'you like that?" he asks voice low and deep, face heating when he realizes how it came out. When he put Cas in his bed, it wasn't so he could fondle the dude. It's not like he's never thought about it, but he didn't think anything would actually happen.

But Cas is nodding, wings flicking up and close to him again. Dark feathers brush his arms and up his neck, a flash of black and azure, and he shivers. Any thoughts about how this might be a bad idea flutter away and he slides a hand into the small, close-set feathers again. He stares, mesmerized, as Cas' wings flutter and arch. Cas looks like he's really into it and Dean can't find a good reason to stop. There's a soft sound of pleasure and he's leaning closer.

"Holy shit, this is really doing it for you, isn't it?" he asks, shifting up onto his knees.

Castiel can only nod, too blissed to even consider lying, eyes tightly closed. Dean doesn't sound upset, not with the way his voice is deeper and a little breathy in a way he can only call seductive, but he doesn't want to risk looking and seeing the expression on Dean's face. Hands pet down his face instead of his feathers, Dean's warm hands cupping his face, and he opens is eyes, startled by the gentle touch.

"You okay? I mean, um, should I... stop?" Dean asks, looking at Cas closely. As much as he's enjoying this odd moment, he won't push if Cas isn't on board. This feels too intimate and he's oddly OK with it. Cas nods slow and sure, eyes opening to give Dean an intense look he can't possibly misinterpret. "They, uh, look a little banged up. Want me to help?"

Dean knows it sounds like a cheesy come-on, but he means it. He's no expert on wings or feathers, but Cas' wings look a little worse for wear and he can only imagine how uncomfortable it must feel now that they're solid and flapping around lazily. He ducks, narrowly avoiding a wing to the head when Cas turns over with a rustle of sheets and feathers. He gets closer, looking down at Cas for a moment to figure out how to do this. He gives a mental shrug and just settles on top of him.

He doesn't think about the fact that he's straddling Cas' thighs, just dives right in. Cas' wings spread out, nearly bumping the walls. Cas' body and wings both settle onto the mattress under him with a soft sigh. He doesn't know where to start, so he just slides his hands down the larger feathers, most of them looking a little crooked and fluffed in a way that looks awkward (but kind of like an adorable cowlick).

He scoots farther down Cas' body so he can reach the feathers better, settling back down again. It's... not as weird as he thought it would be and he quickly gets into a rhythm; fingers combing through Cas' feathers, pressing the larger ones between his palms, until they lay flat and smooth.

He's running his hands down and between the heavy wings, pressing in hard along Cas' spine. Cas groans lowly and he grins. He works his hands up to the base of the huge wings when Cas jumps, groaning as his body twists under Dean. He pauses, fingers bumping over something. He presses and Cas' groans again, deep and guttural. He shifts in his spot on Cas and tries not to think of it as a sex sound. Because son of a bitch it sounded like a sex sound.

"Dean," Castiel grinds out. He doesn't know if it's chastisement or in warning. As much as any thorough wing grooming requires oil, he hadn't anticipated his body's reaction to Dean touching his uropygial gland. He doesn't recall it ever feeling so acutely pleasureable before.

Dean gently rolls the bump between his finger and thumb, grinning when Cas gasps and buries his face in the pillow. "Wow," he murmurs, easing away from the spot and massaging around it. His fingers are damp and slick but he figures it's for the feathers. He works the oil in and smiles with satisfaction to see the dark feathers gleam brightly. The azure patterns bright even in the gloom, feathers laying flat and uniform.

By the fourth pass to the bump, he's very aware Cas is getting off on it. He just doesn't know why. Not that it matters, because he's just as turned on by every hitched breath and soft groan, every twitch of Cas' hips into the mattress. Every time Cas' wings twitch up and feathers caress his arm or cheek.

He leans down, running his hands over Cas' wings as he gets close enough to whisper. "Almost done."

Castiel exhales shakily, pressing his hips down into the bed as subtly as he can. He can feel Dean's arousal pressing against the back of his thigh but he doesn't think it means anything because Dean hasn't done anything but groom his wings. He sinks into the feel of Dean's hands on him, focusing on Dean's careful touch and the pleasant weight on top of him. His wings shift under Dean's hands and he hears Dean's soft chuckle, pleasure warming through him to know Dean's enjoying this, too. That he's not unsettled by his wings, proof he's not at all human.

He sucks in a breath when Dean leans in close again, the softness of Dean's mouth and rough brush of stubble against his jaw as intoxicating as calloused hands sliding down his sides to stroke and comb through the soft under feathers. His eyes close again and he groans softly, glands leaking freely now even without Dean touching them.

It's almost obscene how much is dripping down his sides and onto the cheap bedding. His wings flap as he adjusts his hips and pleasure sparks through him. He turns his face into his pillow in an attempt to muffle the moan.

Dean watches the way Cas' wings settle against his back, quivering a little as Cas tries to hide a moan in the cheap pillow again. He leans in close again, fingers splaying out and sliding through the oil and he hears a deep moan. He feels himself twitch against the small of Cas' back and any attempt at keeping this platonic, _just helping a buddy out_ , flies out the window when he purposely ruts against Cas. It probably trotted away the moment he'd practically kissed him a few moments ago.

Castiel squirms a little at the feel of Dean pressed all along his back, warm breath fanning over the flushed skin at the nape of his neck and over his freshly groomed feathers. He shudders when Dean's mouth is back near his jaw, fervently wishing Dean will press them against him...

Dean licks his lips as he looks at Cas, skin flushed, wings relaxed and beautiful. He knows he could slide off the bed, pat Cas on the back with a 'all done, buddy' and run into the shower and deal with the hard-on alone.

He's pretty sure he could also do it right here, right now, with Cas and it'd be even better. It takes him a minute to screw up his courage, lightly tracing the azure patterns on Cas' feathers with his fingertips. Cas makes a soft sound, wings fluttering with pleasure.

Finally, he can't take it anymore. He slides his hands down Cas' arms as he presses himself flush against Cas' back. He gives into the urge to nuzzle at the back of Cas' neck, sweat-damp curls tickling his nose.

"Can I—?"

"Yes," Castiel immediately says. He doesn't even really care what Dean wants to do.

He's surprised when Dean leans in and kisses him, the angle is awkward until he moves his head. He sighs into it, lips practically tingling at the feel. Dean's hand slide down his slick back and around his sides, bold and sure as he worms between him and the mattress. He huffs a soft sound as Dean's hands keep going down.

Dean adjusts his knees so he's pressed right up against Cas, moaning when they finally touch. He closes his eyes, forehead resting on Cas' temple, and pants softly. It's overwhelming and they're not even naked. He shifts his hips, rutting against Cas and it feels awesome. Cas makes a sound that has him pressing harder with a soft grunt, face buried in Cas' neck.

He mutters a curse and manages to get his hand over Cas' dick, fingers fumbling over the thin fabric of his boxers. It's damp and hot with precome and he bites out another curse, eyes closing with pleasure. He cups his hand around Cas the best he can, shifting his hips so he's snug in the crease of Cas' ass and can't keep his hips still any more. He drops his head with a moan at the feel of Cas surrounding him and pressing hot and hard into his hand. Next time, they're getting naked and he's getting his hands right on skin.

He wishes he had the patience for something a little better than a dry hump against Cas' ass but Cas isn't complaining—he's got a hand up and around the back of Dean's neck as he ruts into Dean's hand and moaning low, the gravel in his voice vibrating against his chest, wings flapping a little as he ruts into the bed and his hand. He kisses any part of Cas he can reach, dragging his chin across the base of Cas' wings a few times when he sees Cas shudder and moan lewdly.

Dean doesn't realize how worked up Cas was until Cas is coming less than a minute later with a long shuddering groan, wings flapping and twitching up with each jerk of his hips. It's one of the hottest things he's seen and he's moaning unashamedly as he thrusts hard and uncoordinated against Cas. He had no idea that feeling Cas come hot and wet across his hand, body tensing under him, would be enough to get him coming in his damn boxers but there it is.

He goes limp over Cas' back, face pillowed between Cas' wings as he gets his breath back. He's about to roll off, not wanting to squish Cas under his dead weight, but Cas makes a soft noise of protest and nudges him back with a wing. Cas relaxes under him and he sighs softly, enjoying the moment, lips pressed to Cas' shoulder.

Dean runs his hands down Cas' sides, patting his hip as he finally rolls off. As much as he was enjoying the moment, the weird cuddling nice, but he has zero interest in Sam catching them like this whenever he wanders back to their room.

It takes a moment to get his to his knees so he won't pinch Cas' wings or kick him and he shakily gets to his feet. He holds out a hand, grinning when Cas looks up at him with surprise.

"Shower time, man. You're a mess."

And he knows Cas could probably clean himself up with a snap of his fingers, mojo scrubbing the mess away in a blink, but he figures Cas should save the energy. Cas must be thinking the same thing because he takes Dean's hand without comment.

The excited look on Cas' face as he scrambles up, fingers slotting with his eagerly, has him practically skipping to the motel's tiny bathroom.


	6. alabaster (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Alabaster  
al·a·bas·ter (/ˈaləˌbastər/)  
adj.

White.

 _Sooo, forewarning: Cas is totally OOC here because it amused me too much to have him act more like Misha.  
_

 _This chapter is an AU, rated **K+**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean doesn't _need_ help but Sam is an annoying, persistent little shit. Apparently 8 months of blank walls and sparse furnishings is some sort of sign he needs his little brother poking his nose into his business and calling interior designers behind his back. Interior designers that ring his doorbell at too-damn-early on a Saturday morning.

If the guy didn't have a carry-out try with two huge coffees balanced on his hand he would've slammed the door and gone back to bed.

As it is, it takes his brain a few moments to engage because he just doesn't have hot guys standing on his porch holding hot, strong coffee. Once it clicks, he frowns and looks the guy over. He's wearing ripped and stressed jeans (that Dean absolutely does not even care are probably designer and likely cost two weeks pay), a fitted t-shirt with a fat unicorn on it and bright orange flip flops.

Either Sam didn't get references before hiring this guy, or he's still asleep.

He settles on a bland "Can I help you?" in greeting just in case this guy isn't in cahoots with Sam and is some other random dude that doesn't deserve his pissy attitude about the whole design thing.

"Hello. I'm Castiel. Are you Dean?"

Dean stares and resists the urge to pinch himself. Because that low, gravely voice. He's pretty sure he's not dreaming, though, because he doesn't think he'd ever be able to come up with a name like 'Castiel' on his own. He looks between the bright smile and crinkled blue eyes and feels curiously fluttery.

He nods, taking the coffee being handed to him merely out of habitual impulse. He steps to the side when Castiel takes a step forward, obviously intent on getting inside.

"Sure, come on in," he mutters as Castiel walks right in. He steps back inside and closes the door with exaggerated care so he doesn't slam it. Castiel is standing in his foyer, looking around with open curiosity.

He looks too, feeling a curious prickle of embarrassment to see it really is plain.

No pictures, no decorations, not even a pair of scattered shoes. But Castiel doesn't look like it bothers him, he actually looks excited, so Dean pushes the embarrassment away. His boring house is why the dude is here, after all.

He sips his coffee, humming softly to himself—strong and black, just how he likes it. Castiel now has a clipboard out, taking notes and muttering about "so plain", "bi-levels" and "cramped entryways" that he ignores in favor of caffeine.

Without a word, Castiel turns on his heel and wanders down the main hallway, head swiveling as he looks around. Dean follows, keeping some distance so Castiel can do his thing. He sips his coffee and resolutely ignores Castiel's running (bordering on bitchy) commentary as he looks at Dean's house.

"Alabaster," Castiel says with a sad little tsk, shaking his head as he looks at the plain walls. He huffs and rolls his eyes. "So twenty-fifteen."

Dean stares for a long moment. He can't tell if the guy is yanking his chain or not.

"Dude, it's _white_." But Castiel is already moving on, making that annoying little tsking sound again, clipboard perched on his bent forearm as he takes notes and makes little sketches.

Dean follows, dread weighing his belly. This is going to be fucking expensive.

By the time Castiel has been through his whole house (even his damn bedroom), Dean is decidedly unsettled. They're in the small eat-in kitchen, Castiel sitting at the table and flipping through the notes he'd taken.

There are a lot of notes.

"So?" Dean asks, unable to take the silence anymore. He lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers, "Give it to me; how bad is it gonna be?"

Castiel is quiet for another moment before pushing his clipboard aside. "Are there any rooms I missed? A basement, maybe?"

Dean shrugs. "No, you've seen everything but the garage." Castiel's expression lights up and he frowns, confused. "You're not touching my garage, man."

"No," Castiel agrees, smiling. He has no intention of doing so, but nothing else in the house had struck him as Dean. And this is the first time Dean's given any sort of opinion. Finally, a room that will give him real, personal insight to his client. "But I'd like to see it."

Dean deliberates for a moment, giving Castiel a suspicious look, before nodding. "Yeah, okay." Castiel is up with an eager expression, already heading out of the kitchen. He pushes past Castiel and leads the way.

He pauses, hand on the knob, and gives Castiel a stern look. "And don't touch anything. Capiche?"

"Yeah, I capiche," Castiel says brightly, grinning.

As soon as the door opens, he knows he's seeing the heart of Dean Winchester. There's the faint smell he always associates with garages and everything is clean and orderly.

Tsking up ¾ of the garage is a large, black, shiny muscle car. It's impressive even though he knows little about cars. He steps closer but doesn't touch the shiny surface, even if he's tempted to.

He whistles appreciatively, following the lines of the car with his gaze. He can see Dean preen from the corner of his eye and can't help laughing softly. He steps further in, looking around. Two large, wheeled tool holders are neatly arranged on a far wall. Some tools on peg board and hooks over an orderly workbench that takes up the nearly the entire wall.

There are a few oil stains underfoot, but they look old and faded— most likely from the previous owner that Dean tried to scrub away.

He can tell Dean is getting antsy, apparently uncomfortable at last with Castiel in his space. He makes his way out, taking a few more notes before walking back into the house.

Dean blinks when Castiel heads right to the front door. He can see Castiel look over his shoulder as he says "I'll be in touch!" and then he's gone.

He flops onto the sofa and tries not to think of it as a threat.


	7. platinum (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Platinum  
plat·i·num (/ˈpladənəm/)  
a color that is the metallic tint of pale grayish-white resembling the metal platinum.

 _This one was tricky... and I'm not sure how_ platinum _inspired a bakery AU, but there ya go._

 _This chapter is a Bakery AU (featuring Benny!), rated **K**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

It's been goin' on for weeks now and Benny is done. Completely over the tension and stolen glances, the way his confident friend turns into a blundering idiot at blue eyes and a uniform.

It's almost painful to watch his best friend and business partner go through this rigmarole on a daily basis. It pains him, right to his heart, and it's gotta stop before he ends up knocking their heads together (or finding a way to stuff 'em the dry pantry together like a buncha kids until nature takes its rightful course).

It happens on a Monday. Nobody likes Mondays. Well, nobody except Dean. Because Mondays mean their small bakery gets their friendly neighborhood police officer in bright and early for his usual. Extra early, so he has time to chat. To Dean. (He's friendly enough to Benny, even if there's all of a dozen words between them, polite as anything. Benny doesn't mind not being in the man's attentions—he was the sort of youth that attracted trouble like flies to manure and he's had a less then pleasant relationship with the law. He's happy to keep a polite distance).

It's _that_ morning Benny decides he's going to actively do something to help Dean woo the sexy cop he's been staring at every morning for the past two months when the man comes in for a dozen doughnuts (plus some extra because Dean can't seem to help himself from adding a few more in there in a way Benny can only guess is his clumsy attempts at courtin') and three coffees to go.

Benny'd be blind not to notice the way Castiel looks at Dean, all bright smiles and warm gazes. He's amazed _Dean_ doesn't see it when half their regulars do and frequently ask Benny if they're a couple. (Most seem pleasant enough about it, some smiling and giggling like it's a damn matchmaking game-show—at least when his back isn't turned. He imagines the ones that would kick up a fuss about it don't come back.)

He's tried to be subtle about nudging the two together, dropping hints and whatnot, but neither man seems to get subtly. The one time he came right out and asked about it, Dean turned into this shy little thing, eyes downcast as he shrugged and shook his head. He could count the times on one hand he'd seen Dean like this, shaken from his 'give 'em hell' attitude and freely showing his insecurities.

"No way a guy like Cas would be interested in a guy like me."

Benny tried real hard to keep his temper, but he didn't have much patience when it came to people bad-mouthing Dean. Especially Dean himself.

He scoffed and gave Dean a forceful clap on the shoulder, shaking him a bit in the hopes it'd get his brains working again. "Brother, if that ain't the biggest pile o' horseshit I ever heard."

Dean only shrugged again and gave him a look that said he best drop it.

So he did.

But after another morning of looks, smiles and Dean going around the customer side of the counter to make small talk (not at all bothered by Castiel all up in his personal space), Benny has had enough.

Castiel is punctual (a man could set his watch by the fella), so he's got 10 minutes to get everything done. He gets out Castiel's normal selection of doughnuts—changing a few out but minus the 'few extra' that always manage to get in there when Dean does it—and boxes them up in a platinum box. He ignores Dean's curious glances as he fills a #2 tipped pastry bag with their signature metallic platinum buttercream (that took ages to perfect but so worth the effort when he admires the end result).

He carefully arranges the doughnuts and gets to piping, movements quick and efficient with years of practice. He has to move twice to keep Dean from peeking, blocking his handy work with his broad back, but he finally gets done moments before Castiel walks in. He tucks the box closed and tapes it up just as Castiel gets to the counter.

He has a moment to wonder if he's done the right thing, wondering if maybe he should be minding his own business, but then Dean laughs at something Castiel says (a real, throw his head back and _belly laugh_ kinda laugh that he doesn't see enough of), a light blush among his freckles.

Oh, yeah; he's sure.

Benny nudges Dean out of the way with a playful hip check and slides the prepared box of doughnuts across the counter to Castiel with a friendly wink and a toothy smile. There's a moment of confusion; Benny doesn't usually butt in on their moments, leaving Dean to settle up orders. Castiel looks to Dean with narrowed eyes and his head tilted in a way that Benny _knows_ Dean thinks is absolutely adorable, but it all ends well when Dean slides over the cardboard carrier with the coffees in it.

There's a long moment of smiles and staring.

Benny absolutely does not feel bad for breaking the moment with an amused snicker.

After another round of staring, Dean going out of his way to lean over the counter to give Castiel a thump on the shoulder, Castiel heads out to continue his day.

Benny can feel Dean staring at him now, brow furrowed and mouth turned down at the corners. He's saved from explaining why he'd gathered Castiel's order this morning when a customer comes in. Dean gives him one last look, one that makes it clear he's got questions, and turns away to give Mrs. Tran a charming smile and a bright greeting.

He makes his escape to the back, wiping his hands on his apron as he goes. Good lord, he hopes Castiel opens the doughnuts before he gets to work...

.

Castiel opens the platinum bakery box, steps faltering as he looks inside. His eyes widen with surprise and he just stares. A smile slowly grows on his face when he sees the message iced onto the doughnuts.

'Call him! 785-555-0802'


	8. vermilion (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Vermilion  
ver·mil·ion (/vərˈmilyən/)  
noun

A brilliant red, or scarlet, pigment originally made from the powdered mineral cinnabar.

 _So, this is sort of based off a conversation I had while playing_ Clue _with my nephew a while ago. Everything else just sort of... happened as I started writing._

 _This chapter is rated **K+**. This chapter is an AU (because the Winchesters deserve a game night at the Bunker and everyone is alive, OK?)._

 _Enjoy. :)_

* * *

Since they've had some downtime, no big bads to take up all of their time, they now do a _thing_ every Thursday. Sam's started calling it Game Night but Dean just considers it getting together, and they just _happen_ to play games at some point in the evening. Normal people do Game Night—they're just... gathering.

It just sort of happened. He'd realized they had a free night, nothing supernatural pinging their radar for the past few days, so he called Charlie and Dorothy. They said they'd bring the pizza so Dean makes sure there's beer. Sam said something to Eileen about it being a 'night in' instead of their weird idea of dates, so she brings a game. (So far, she's stuck to the classics that are pretty new to all of them.)

Sam sets up the Clue board and hands out the little papers that came with the game. Everyone watches as he pulls three cards from each little pile, making sure he's not peeking, and slides it into the little envelope and set it in the middle of the board.

Dean peeks over at Cas, nudging him with his shoulder when he notices the weird look on Cas' face. "What's wrong?"

Castiel nods towards the character pieces, eyebrows drawn together slightly. "That's vermilion."

"Uh. Sure," Dean says easily. He considers Miss Scarlett for a moment and then shrugs. "Same thing though, I guess. But the character is Miss Scarlett, so."

" _Vermilion_."

Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly and chuckles, shaking his head. He looks down and starts sorting through his cards. "I guess Miss Vermilion didn't have the panache they were looking for."

Castiel purses his lips and finally nods. "I can see that," he says after some thought. He tilts his body away a little as he looks through his own cards, taking the 'keep them a secret!' suggestion very seriously. He's already noticed Dean peeking at others' cards whenever he's afforded the opportunity.

It's surprisingly fun, considering they all solve murder cases for a living. Somehow it's fun when it's fictional and the situations for murder can get ridiculous. (He's still chuckling occasionally at Cas' attempt to understand how a candlestick can kill someone quietly enough no one would notice.)

Unsurprisingly, Charlie kicks all their asses, laughing openly at a grumpy Cas as she gleefully fingers his character as the murderer. Dean holds in the laugh that wants to come out as Cas carefully checks over his paper, nose nearly touching it he's looking so closely, obviously hoping to prove her wrong.

"Peacock, in the Study, with the lead pipe!"

They end up playing 5 more times until they've all been the murderer at least once.

The next week, Eileen brings Monopoly. She shows off the box with a flourish and a bright smile.

Sam looks conflicted, Charlie looks diabolically gleeful (Dorothy giving her a fond look, but otherwise looking mildly confused) and everyone else just seems resigned to playing.

Dean is happily sorting his money into neat piles after slamming Charlie with a loud "RENT!" when she landed on his Marvin Gardens when he realizes Cas has that same look on his face as he did last week over the whole Miss Scarlett/Miss Vermilion thing.

He bumps his shoulder into Cas' to get his attention, giving him a 'what?' look. Cas rolls his eyes and waves him off, turning his attention to watching Dorothy move her dog piece down the board. (Dean had snickered for a solid 5 minutes when she picked the dog, much to Charlie's annoyance and Dorothy's confusion. Cas will give him an 'I get that reference!' look whenever Dean tells her to move her little dog. It's sort of adorable and Dean grins and pats his leg every time.)

It's later when he lands on Boardwalk and half the room erupts into cheers and sounds of jealousy.

"What?" Castiel asks, looking between Charlie and Eileen, taking care to speak once he's looking directly at Eileen. He's still considering whether or not to buy the property. He has enough money, but it's a poor choice—strategy wise.

Charlie throws her head back with a groan and an exaggerated sigh and a rolls her head forward to give Cas a pout. "That's like, the holy grail of Monopoly, Cas!" she says, throwing her hands up. Cas just looks contemplative instead of snatching the deed up and she's starting to gape at him because he just doesn't. Get It. Dude had the download, he should know this!

"Why is that the most sought after property? The chances of landing there are slim. Illinois Avenue is clearly the best property to own," he says, pointing at the space. He's purchased it merely in keeping with the game play, but he's glad he did when he realized how frequently it gets landed on. He's received rent from each of them—Sam twice—already. He'll be combining the 3 houses he's purchased for it into a hotel on his next turn.

He knows at this point Sam isn't looking forward to when he invariably lands there again. The nearly $800 rent will severely dent his funds.

"With the exception of the jail, it's the most landed on space."

"True," Dean concedes, taking Cas' word for it because he would definitely know down to mathematical probability, looking between the spaces. Charlie is now giving them both a 'you guys totally suck' expression, but whatever. "But it costs the most, so it's the best."

"That's ridiculous. That's a _ridiculous_ reason," Castiel says with a scoff, leaning towards Dean with narrowed eyes. "Statistically, Illinois Avenue is a better investment. Boardwalk seems to be an overrated space." He grins and nudges Dean, "If you've ever been to the actual Atlantic City, you know it's true."

That startles a laugh out of Dean and he throws his head back, holding his stomach as he laughs. Because yeah, Cas has a damn good point.

"So, that mean you're not gonna buy it?" Dean asks, eyes flicking to the space. The chances of someone else landing on it anytime soon are pretty slim. But going by Cas' logic, it's probably a waste of money anyway. He shrugs when Cas shakes his head and sits back, putting his hands in his lap.

Dean snickers and shakes his head. Sam looks as amused as he does, but he doesn't bother trying to talk Cas into it. He just picks up the dice and rolls them for his turn.

The whole table erupts into playful taunts and cheers when Sam's thimble lands on Illinois Avenue— _again_. Dean snickers when Cas gives a smug little smile and holds his hand out expectantly.

"That'll be rent, Sam," Castiel says. He makes a show of checking his deed, but he's already memorized the amounts. "One thousand, one hundred dollars, please." He laughs outright when Sam groans and slaps a stack of colorful money in Cas' palm, looking woefully at his diminished funds.

"This game sucks," Sam mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his measly money pile. Eileen pats his leg and he huffs softly because she's laughing at him. She's a horrible girlfriend to laugh at his misery (and because she's in second place). "Why do people even play this game? It's vicious."

Castiel counts his money with exaggerated slowness. "I don't know, Sam" he says, even though he has a good idea.

It's fun to win.

.

The week after that, Eileen brings Jenga.

Dean grins and rubs his hands together. "So, I heard people play strip Jenga," he says, looking at Cas and wagging his eyebrows obnoxiously.

And of course, Cas is the one to splash cold water all over his fun: "Do you wish to see everyone naked?" he asks, pointedly looking around at everyone gathered around the table, eyebrows popping up smugly when Dean makes a face. He doesn't point out that Dean's wish to see him naked would mean everyone else would, too. Dean is ridiculously proprietary about such things considering his jokes and taunts. (Castiel doesn't have the same 'hang-ups' about nudity, so he really doesn't care beyond the fact that he knows Dean would ultimately be uncomfortable with it.)

"No!" Dean immediately denies. Because, no. He has zero interest in seeing Sam naked anymore than he has to when stuffed into a motel room together and while the girls are tempting in theory, they're just as much family as Sam—so, no thanks. He'd only been trying to get Cas naked, but he sees Cas' point and nearly face-palms. "Forget I said that. Let's make it a drinking game."

No one disagrees, so Dean heads to the fridge for the three six-packs Charlie and Dorothy brought with them. It's not enough to get any of them drunk, but it's a start.

Castiel leans in close to Dean, mouth nearly brushing his ear, "Pulling from the bottom isn't wise."

Dean ignores him, already used to Cas' dirty tactics, and carefully pokes the end of the wooden block until it pops out the other side enough for him to grab and ease it out.

He pulls it with a triumphant sound, waving it in Cas' face. "Ha!" He pokes Cas in the cheek with it, laughing when Cas swats him away with a glower. He carefully sets the wooden block on top of the tower and leans back, arms crossed and grinning widely.

Cas just glares some more, rolling his eyes and leaning in to take his turn. Dean considers messing with him, sliding a hand into Cas' back pocket and copping a feel is always a good tactic, but decides against it when he sees the intent look on Cas' face. Cas is totally in the zone; he'd probably get an elbow to the gut.

As much as Cas takes the games seriously, it's still fun and Dean enjoys the hell out of game night.

He's looking forward to next week; Eileen said she's bringing Yahtzee!


	9. mint (rated M - panty kink)

_Today's color:_  
Mint  
Mint (/mint/)

a variable color averaging a pale green, with hints of blue and very slightly yellow

 _I was doing... um, research awhile for a previous fic and came across some lovely mint colored panties. So, since it's been awhile since I wrote anything smutty... As soon as I saw the daily word, I was inspired by those panties and that was that._

 _This chapter will be rated **M** for sexual situations and language (I think it's safe to say it's pretty much just a PWP_ _—fair warning). This chapter will contain panty kink (Dean in panties)._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

Castiel looks up when the bag of frozen vegetables Dean is holding slips from his fingers, falling onto the floor and spilling its contents across the tile. He touches Dean's arm, concerned when he notices the far-off look on Dean's face and the way he seems frozen; staring blankly, hands up and open like he doesn't realize he'd just dropped the peas.

"Dean?"

Dean jerks back to awareness and practically mauls Cas, grabbing him by the front of his button down, yanking him close and kissing him hot and dirty. Cas makes a sound of surprise but just goes with it like he always does; grabbing at the back of Dean's head, fingers sliding through his hair, and the other palming Dean's ass, kissing back with enthusiasm that make Dean's toes curl in his socks and his hips jerk forward.

"Fuck," he breathes as he pulls away, panting lightly. Cas just grins at him, hips bumping forward suggestively. "No, seriously. We should totally fuck."

He looks around the kitchen, his body warming, heat curling and pooling in his belly, when his gaze lands on the sturdy table. He's always wanted to throw Cas down on the table and get it on. But with Kevin and Sam living at the Bunker, and Charlie's frequent visits, it's nearly impossible to get alone time that didn't include a locked door because all three of the assholes had a sixth cock-block Dean sense that rarely failed to catch him and Cas out when they try to do anything past making out.

Castiel looks around the kitchen, eyebrow raised, before looking back at Dean and studying his expression. "Here?" he asks, already knowing the answer when Dean grins, eyebrows dancing lewdly, and starts directing him towards the large oak table. He spares a moment to think 'but we eat there' but he goes willingly, of course, Dean no longer needing to have his hands on his chest to get him moving.

"Hell yeah," Dean breathes out, dick twitching when Cas grins back and goes willingly. No questions asked, no objections.

As soon as Cas' legs hit the table's edge, he's grabbing Dean and pulling him close so their bodies are flush together, hands everywhere, mouth insistent and hot. He might've started this, but Cas takes the reins with ease and Dean just goes with a happy sound as Cas undoes his belt with one hand and slides the other down the back of his jeans.

He has a moment of panic when Cas goes still and leans back, eyebrows raised. He can feel Cas' palm and fingers hot through the thin fabric, Cas' thumb teasing at the thick lace band.

They had a bit of a... discussion about the back of Dean's sock drawer, but it wasn't like they really got into it. Cas had found a pair of panties because he was a terrible clothes thief and Dean didn't care if he borrowed a pair of socks. After Dean snatched the panties, face hot and eyes averted, and shoved them as far as he could while assuring Cas they weren't from some random woman and that they were _Dean's_ , that was that. They didn't talk about it after that... not enough for Cas to know Dean sometimes slips a pair out and wears them instead of his boxer briefs. And yeah, that's usually days he doesn't think Cas will see 'em, if he's honest with himself.

Because as cool as Cas had been about it, expression interested but not judgemental (almost looking confused why Dean would even be blushing and practically stammering), that doesn't mean Dean was quite ready to wear them in front of him.

Too late now.

He stares back, trying not to look defensive or defiant. Reminds himself ' _this is Cas, this is Cas, Cas loves you and won't freak out_ ''. He smothers the urge to fidget (or maybe make a break for it—chances of finding out if their table can take the weight of two grown men be damned) because Cas is still staring at him, blue eyes dark and intent; he's got that look in his eye that makes Dean shiver pleasantly. It's all focused lust and adoration and he's starting to relax.

"Is that—what I think it is?" Castiel finally asks, breaking the tense silence. Dean's flushed with embarrassment, eyes darting away occasionally, and he wants to tread lightly. He's been waiting for this for awhile. As arousing as the idea of Dean in his panties is, he didn't want to push, he'd been happy to wait until Dean came to him about it, with his cocky smile and confident swagger. Dean is remarkably sensitive and he loathes the thought of risking the trust they've built.

Dean clears his throat and meets Cas' eyes. Yeah, Cas is looking at him in the way that secretly makes his knees weak. He can't quite find his voice though, so he just nods. Cas' hand slides across his ass, the slide slow and smooth over the rayon. It feels awesome and his eyes flutter closed with a sigh.

Castiel watches closely. "Is this okay?" he murmurs, hesitantly resting a hand on Dean's hip. He wants to touch the lace and soft fabric. "We can—"

"It's fine, Cas," Dean says, opening his eyes and giving Cas a look. He's half-hard and it's not going to be long to get all the way there if Cas keeps petting his ass, sliding his hand over the softness of his panties. He rolls his hips out just a little, pressing into Cas' palm.

Castiel pushes Dean's jeans down, finally getting a glimpse. He slowly runs his thumbs over the thick lace band, gaze drawn the the little black satin bow just under Dean's navel. The soft mint green panel covering his nascent erection is soft to the touch, softer than the black and doing very little to hide Dean's excitement.

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he stares at the darker patch of precome, excited by the sight of it by habit as much as knowing Dean's turned on and not shying away.

"Well?" Dean asks after a solid two minutes of staring, Cas' hands back to gripping his hips tightly. He can feel the flush on his neck and chest when Cas merely looks up through his lashes at him, head lifted just enough Dean can see the smile on his face.

He groans softly when Cas' hand slides from where he'd had it across his hip and cups him, thumb sweeping along the outline of him through the soft fabric. His hips twitch forward eagerly and he grabs at Cas' shirt, dragging him in for another kiss.

"I take it you like them?"

Castiel hums softly, dipping his head to nose at Dean's jaw and chuckles. "I do, but I like that you like them even more." He pulls away with an effort and looks Dean over again, pleased to see Dean's practically preening this time; hips jutted forward a little and unashamedly, fully hard and peeking obscenely over the thick lace band.

He doesn't quite understand why Dean would think this is odd, why he'd be embarrassed, but he's more than pleased to know Dean still indulges himself. He's quick to bring Dean closer again, needing to feel Dean hard and eager against him. Dean is already rutting in shallow thrusts against his hip, so he doesn't think they're going to have the patience for what Dean originally had in mind.

Castiel steadies himself against the sturdy table and brings Dean in close, running his hands all over the soft panties. They're so soft and warm from Dean's body heat, he can understand the appeal. They're indulgent and attractive, more so than the no-nonsense, plain underwear Dean usually wears. He has an idea that Dean has more than one pair of panties shoved in the back of his drawer and he really hopes Dean makes a habit of wearing them daily.

He slides a finger under the soft elastic by Dean's thigh, tracing the line of muscle and bone. Dean braces himself on his shoulders with an excited shudder and he's happy to take his weight. He places a line of kisses across Dean's chest and up his neck, keeps his fingers loose and light as he traces the shape of Dean through the rayon.

Dean moans as his head tilts back, eyes closing. He feels like a lump just standing there as Cas does everything, but it feels too good and Cas looks happy enough to have Dean panting and pliant like putty in his hands. He can feel the smug little smile on Cas' lips as he kisses across his chest, nipples peaked and skin flushed with goosebumps. Cas knows just where to touch him to drive him crazy. Right now, Cas is very carefully leaving the panties on and it's about to melt his goddamn brain he's so turned on.

He presses closer to Cas, moaning out a shuddering exhale when Cas' other hand slips down the back of his panties and teases down between his cheeks. He's cursing and panting, rubbing against Cas, hands buried in Cas' hair as he tries to hold himself upright as pleasure burns through him.

Dean's mouth drops with a lewd moan when Cas increases the pressure, the friction perfect through his panties. Cas keeps this up, and he'll be coming in his damn panties in no time.

"That is the idea, Dean," Castiel murmurs lowly, smiling to himself when Dean twitches and voices another loud moan, nipping at Dean's collarbone, dragging his tongue over one of Dean's nipples. Dean's hands are tight on him as he rocks with each move he makes and he's entranced, practically soaking up the sight before him. Thankfully, Dean is too lost to pleasure, moments away from orgasm, to chide him for staring.

He leans in again, tracing his tongue along the line of Dean's earlobe and puts a few nipping kisses down Dean's neck before leaning in close again, murmuring in Dean's ear. He nearly smiles in satisfaction when Dean moans and comes with a shudder when he asks him to, tells Dean he wants to see him come in his pretty panties. He didn't know how Dean would respond to that and he's pleased with the results.

Dean practically collapses against Cas' chest, hands weakly grabbing at his arms and panting against Cas' chest. And holy shit, Cas is still completely dressed. He groans weakly and needs a few extra minutes to catch his breath and get his legs back under him.

He reaches for Cas, feeling bad when it looks like Cas is ready to burst right through the damn zipper, but Cas' hand on his wrist is gentle but insistent. A murmured 'later' has him nodding and flopping over Cas again with a satisfied sigh. As soon as he's able to stand without wobbling, he's grabbing Cas and dragging him out of the kitchen and to their bedroom. They need real lube to get Cas taken care of; they can try table sex later.

-X-

"—the fucking bomb!" Charlie gushes as she bursts through the heavy front door, practically dancing down the main stairs of the Bunker. Sam is shaking his head, a fond smile on his face, as he follows her down at a more sedate pace. The graceful moose, she thinks to herself and snickers under her breath.

Sam huffs a laugh. "Yeah, it _was_ pretty cool," he agrees easily enough. It isn't often he enjoyed the various Comic Cons Charlie drags him too, but thankfully this one hadn't ever heard of the Supernatural books, so he felt relatively safe and anonymous and had been able to enjoy himself. He'd actually had fun, laughing and taking pictures of Kevin and Charlie in their cosplays. "I'm glad we went for the weekend passes."

"Hells yeah," Charlie sing-songs, lifting her hand for a high five. Which Sam is in the process of returning when he stills completely, hand still raised, gaze trained over her shoulder and his eyes bugging out. She whips around, expecting some baddie or something, but doesn't see anything nefarious. "Dude?"

Sam sputters and averts his eyes. Dammit. Dean's insistence on staying back at the Bunker had been weird, _he_ likes the dorky stuff and no longer tries to pretend he doesn't when Charlie has something worth geeking out over, but now he knows why. He groans and covers his eyes with one hand, using the other to wordlessly point to the offending item.

"What?" Charlie asks even as she turns around. She looks around but doesn't see anyth— " _Oh_ ," she breathes out, grinning and crossing her arms over her chest. "Rock on, Dean-o," she cheers, pumping a fist in the air. Sam groans again and she rolls her eyes. "Don't be a priss," she scolds playfully.

She can totally get why Sam is having a little brother moment, but she knows for a fact both of them have walked in on a lot worse than a pair of underwear dangling from a ceiling fan. She drags a chair over and fishes them off the fan blade. They're cute, all soft black mesh with white trim and little pretty flowers, and she figures Dean will want them once his fit of passion has subsided (and his embarrassment at having them found).

She hops down, twirling them around her finger and grinning at Sam. She's tempted to fling them right in his pinched up face, but she just punches his arm with a grin and heads towards the laundry room. No need for Kevin to wander in and start screeching about brain bleach too.


	10. copper (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Copper  
cop·per (/ˈkäpər/)  
a reddish-brown color resembling the color of polished copper

 _Domestic Destiel on the way!_

 _This chapter is rated **K+**._

 _Enjoy_.

* * *

Dean makes his way into the kitchen, most of his attention on smoothing his lapels and adjusting his tie, shifting his shoulders in the suit jacket.

It's been awhile since they had to play Fed and the suit doesn't quite fit like it used to. It's a little tight in the shoulders and the buttons are a little more stressed when he buttons it. Maybe he should've listened to Cas and tried on a new one when he took Cas for his.

He's messing with his cuffs when he makes it to the kitchen and stops a few steps in when he sees Cas. Even after 4 months, he's getting used to Cas being around all the time— in the kitchen, coming out of the steamy bathroom only wearing a towel and a smile, sitting next to him watching crappy daytime TV, researching with Sam in the library, (and his favorite) on the other side of his bed.

He just looks for a long moment, enjoying the light, warm feeling that works through him as he watches Cas putter around. Moving with confidence and familiarity that makes Dean smile a little. He takes a few more steps in, gaze on how Cas' shoulders and back look in his suit jacket.

Castiel turns when he hears footsteps and smiles at Dean over his shoulder. He looks handsome in a suit and he lets his gaze linger a bit before turning and picking up the mug of coffee he just poured.

Dean comes up behind him, steps a little tentative until hands settle on his waist. He smiles to himself and leans back, resting a hand over Dean's. He knows Dean is still getting used to this new intimacy between them, still learning how to navigate the small gestures he'd spent years trying to repress. How to reach for the things he wants instead of trying to do what he thinks he should, what he thinks others want.

They stand quietly for a moment, Dean's chin on his shoulder, until the coffee maker shuts off with a last gurgling hiss. The noise breaks Dean from his reverie and Castiel lets him pull away.

Dean reluctantly takes a hand off Cas' side to grab the coffee Cas thoughtfully prepared for him. It's light with cream and he's secretly pleased Cas always remembers. Black coffee is a staple on the road, when creamer is left out on tables, and iffy at best, and sugar containers are crusty and smeared with random diner goo.

Castiel turns and adjusts Dean's tie, mainly just to get close and a reason to touch Dean. Dean leans to the side a little, trying to bring his mug to his mouth, but Castiel's hands are in the way and he lowers it with a fond huff. He smooths his hands down Dean's chest, grinning when Dean just gives him a look and tries to drink his coffee around his hands again.

Dean's almost half done his coffee before he notices Cas' tie is undone and loosely draped around his neck. It's one of the new ones Cas picked out when they added to his wardrobe. It's a bright, shiny copper and it goes surprisingly well with the cream shirt and Cas' skin tone.

It's kind of weird not seeing the blue or the generic striped tie Cas wore for so long but it looks good and Cas had looked so pleased to pick something out for himself, Dean didn't have the heart to complain.

"Need a hand?" Dean asks, nodding at the untied tie. He's watched Cas fumble with ties before. He'd asked why Cas didn't just mojo the damn thing, save some aggravation, but Cas just shrugged. Dean thinks maybe Cas just likes when he has to get in close and tie it for him.

Castiel nods with a sigh. He'd been trying to get the knot right but he'd been unsuccessful. He'd finally given up before he wrinkled it too badly and decided to wait for Dean to help.

Dean sets his mug down and takes a dangling end of the tie in each hand, yanking gently until Cas shuffles closer, a warm smile on his face and crinkling his eyes.

He adjusts the length and gets to work. He tries to ignore the way Cas is watching him intently, blue eyes flicking between his down turned eyes and his mouth. He's long ago stopped telling Cas to quit staring at his face instead of watching the simple process of a Windsor knot. Cas always ends up staring.

Castiel waits until Dean is tightening the knot a little and smoothing a hand down his neatly tied tie before leaning in for a kiss.

"Thank you, Dean," he murmurs, lips brushing Dean's. He can feel Dean smiling and it warms him more than the coffee did.

He barely has a moment to enjoy Dean's warm, amused chuckle before Dean is pulling him in by the tie again, lips meeting in a less-chaste kiss. He huffs a soft moan when Dean's hands slide down his sides.

It's not the first time, but it is a first when they're in one of the main rooms. Usually Dean is more reserved about this in the shared spaces, no doubt concerned Sam would walk in and see something. Or interrupt.

Pleasure sparks hot and bright when Dean cups his jaw and deepens the kiss with a soft happy sound. As much as he doesn't want to stop, he pulls away a little when Dean starts to tug at his shirt, his other hand teasing lower. They haven't the time...

"I've already had my inseam measured," he mumbles, even as his hips twitch forward into Dean's solid, warm hand.

Dean pulls away with a snicker and rolls his eyes. Fair enough, though. Making out in the kitchen isn't a good idea; Sam will wander in any minute for his green smoothie goop and an organic granola bar he has the nerve to call breakfast.

He pecks a last kiss to Cas' lips and smirks when he notices Cas' suit is a bit of a mess, his cheeks flushed a lovely pink, eyes practically sparkling. Son of a bitch he looks good. He's almost tempted to drag Cas back to their room by that damn copper tie and put off their interview for a few hours.

Castiel makes a soft tsking sound and puts himself to rights just as Sam comes in, dressed and ready in his own suit.

They've had some practice working in a trio and it still gives him a warm rush of pride when Sam includes him in research or case notes, asking his opinion or even just sharing the shotgun seat without complaint or fuss. They've worked cases together before, of course, but it's different now that Cas is living with them, always around instead of popping in and out. He'd expected an adjustment period, Sam needing some time to get used to Castiel's now nearly-constant presence but it just seemed to happen so naturally and easily.

Castiel gives Sam a smile in greeting, trying to subtly adjust his belt and check his zipper is up.

Sam pauses as he reaches for the fridge, looking between a smugly smiling Dean and a disheveled Cas. He raises his eyebrows and smothers the urge to smile. Cas looks a bit embarrassed as he finishes tucking in his shirt so he decides to let it go.

It's more fun making fun of Dean, anyway. He's earned it—for _years_ of practical jokes and taunting.

He pours himself some orange juice and tries to ignore the heated looks Dean and Cas are shooting each other, both of them unsubtly ogling the other over their mugs.

"Ready?" Sam asks, finishing his juice. He eyes the two and debates whether he wants to get between them to rinse out his glass or not.

Thankfully, Cas finally breaks his staring contest with Dean and takes it from him, rinsing it and placing it in the sink. He does the same with their mugs and nods—they're ready to go.

They all pat their pockets for wallets and badges and they head out. Sam takes the backseat, giving Cas a grin when he looks at him with confusion. It's technically his turn but he's getting used to the signs of his brother needing Cas a little closer.

He pretends not to know they hold hands the moment they're on the road.


	11. ebony (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Ebony  
eb·on·y (/ˈebənē/)  
a very dark black color, sometimes with a dark olive tinge

 _My first attempt at a 100 word drabble. Results were... adequate? heh._

 _This chapter is rated **K**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Of all the rooms in the Bunker, Castiel likes the music room the most. The Men of Letters had varied tastes and seemingly unlimited funds, so the music room is well equipped.

For the most part, he's left alone when he comes in here. It's become his space, like Dean's garage and Sam's weight room. He likes the quiet and peace to practice. The soft music he can coax out of polished wood and gleaming metal.

Tonight, Dean joins him at the piano. Coming in silently and sitting beside him on the ebony bench. He keeps playing, Dean's shoulder brushing his warmly.


	12. mahogany (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Mahogany  
ma·hog·a·ny (/məˈhäɡənē/)

a reddish brown color.

 _This one went a bit trope-y (yanno, the 'Cas finds a fluffy animal somewhere and sneaks it into the Bunker' one) since I've been meaning to do one. Sam helps, too, so even more trope-y? Probably. Yay!_

 _This chapter is rated **K+** (there's some coarse language). Pointless fluff ahead heh_

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean's idea to split up (even though they saw through his blatantly obvious ploy to shirk researching) meant Castiel and Sam hit the library while Dean questioned some locals and searched the town for food that (hopefully) wouldn't kill them.

By the third hour, the only progress Sam and Castiel made was strained eyes and exhausting the library's small occult section with little to show for it.

Sam sat back with a tired huff, squinting his eyes tightly closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He smothered a yawn with the side of his fist and leaned forward, rolling his head a few times to work out the kinks from being bent over reading for the last few hours.

He glanced across the table to see Cas squinting at an opened book, nose inches away from the small text.

Dean was right— Cas needed some glasses. (And he was a damn saint for being able to forget Dean's leer and his next internet search for librarian porn he didn't bother to clear from the history.)

"Find anything?" Sam asked, closing the book and stacking it with the others.

Castiel shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. They felt hot and gritty, not a pleasant feeling. It was times like this, feeling the lesser pleasant effects of humanity, he almost missed his Grace.

He closed his own book. His back ached from sitting in the same position for so long. He leaned back in the chair a little, groaning quietly at the series of pops and cracks.

He could tell Sam was done, too. They hadn't found anything useful. It'd been a long shot that they would but they'd all agreed it was worth looking before making the four hour drive back to the Bunker's well stocked library.

"Alright, let's go," Sam said, pushing back his chair. He gathered the books, stacking them carefully as Cas did the same thing across the table. They made quick work of reshelving the books and headed out.

They both stretched again as they stood out front, rubbing their eyes as they adjusted from the lights inside to the setting dusk. Dean had the car, so they were walking. Sam didn't care, looking forward to the chance for fresh air and stretching his legs, and Cas hadn't commented about it since the library wasn't far from the motel they picked for the night.

Castiel took a moment to enjoy the fresh air before catching up with Sam, falling into step with him easily. They didn't get far when they heard a strange sound coming from the narrow space between a small deli and a tobacco store. They stopped walking and shared a look.

It was likely something worth looking into. Just as likely nothing, something as ordinary as a rat or something, but they couldn't just walk by without checking it out.

Castiel was quick to move to Sam's left when he saw Sam turn towards the sound and one hand dipped to where he kept his gun, the other going for one of his knives.

He did the same, feeling the curious heightened-senses fueled by adrenaline as they moved into the darkened space, eyes flicking rapidly to every shadow, ears perked for sounds.

They both startled, drawing their guns, when something moved less than two feet away.

Castiel was the first to react, sidestepping so he could get a better view of what—

"Oh," he said, voice shaking with fading adrenaline, soft with wonder and shock. "Sam, it's alright," he added, quickly putting his weapons away. His hands were shaking a little and he slid them into his coat pockets.

Sam cautiously put his own weapons away, giving Cas a curious look. He looked spooked, which was really damn weird considering what they did for a living and he'd put his weapons away anyway.

He stepped closer and stared, feeling just as shaken as Cas looked when he looked down at what had drawn them down a dark alley.

They made it back to the motel before Dean, both heading to Sam's room by unspoken agreement. The moment the door was unlocked, they hurried inside. Sam was quick to close and lock the door, meeting Cas' eyes and trying not to look, or feel, guilty.

Geez, when Dean found out—

Castiel carefully removed his trench coat. Sam was watching, alternating between nervously wringing his hands and running his hands through his hair. He wanted to reassure him, but his attention was on getting his arms free.

"Cas."

Castiel looked up, smiling a little. He carefully shifted on his feet. "I know," he said, nearly rolling his eyes at Sam's nerves. "We won't tell Dean. Yet," he added when Sam continued to look guilty, pushing his hair back in a nervous gesture again, his forehead creased and eyes troubled.

Sam stepped closer when Cas got his coat off, leaning in when Cas lifted his sweater. Sam watched as he revealed the ball of dirty brown fur curled up, sleeping peacefully and looking adorable. Skinny and filthy, but still adorable. He let out an involuntary 'Aww' when a floppy ear twitched and the puppy made a sleepy yip.

"Dean is gonna freak," he whispered, petting the soft spot between the puppy's ears. It made an adorable little happy sound and one paw gave a sleepy flick.

Castiel sighed softly and reluctantly nodded his agreement. He knew Dean wouldn't be happy with them taking in a dog, a very young dog barely old enough to be away from its mother and littermates.

Neither of them had the heart to leave the small animal where they'd found it; shivering, filthy, and hungry in a dark alley. It didn't take long to get the puppy closer to them, Castiel bundling it in his sweater to keep it warm once he'd calmed the animal.

Sam had watched, smiling, when Cas had finally managed to get the puppy close, picking it up in a gentle grip, eyes wide with happy surprise. He'd nearly laughed when Cas had lifted the squirming puppy to eye level, meeting warm brown eyes, and said "We don't wish to harm you" in his serious voice, pitched soft and soothing.

The puppy's squirming stopped and it leaned in to lick Cas' nose. Sam did lose it, laughing when Cas' eyes went wide and he gave Sam a bright eyed look of shocked joy.

They'd asked around but no one claimed the dog or knew where it came from. When they talked to the owner of the local dry cleaners, she said she thought she'd seen someone dump a litter of puppies earlier that day. Her face creased with concern and guilt when she said she'd hadn't been able to look into it further since she'd had steady business since she opened. She gave them both a pleading look when she said she called her daughter to come look, ready to bring them to the local shelter if needed.

After a stop for puppy food, shampoo and other essentials, they headed back to the motel. They spent the walk back to the motel quiet, both stealing glances at the sleeping puppy. Sam wasn't exactly surprised it was sleeping, comfortable in Cas' hold.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, gently shaking the puppy awake. They needed to feed and bathe it before Dean came back. Showing him a filthy puppy would make the chances of all three of them being homeless too damn likely. "I'll get the sink ready for a puppy bath."

He dug the bottle of puppy shampoo out of the plastic shopping bag he'd dumped by the door. He read over the directions and tried not to feel overwhelmed by the prospect of bathing a tiny puppy. How hard could it be?

By the end of it, he was drenched from shoulders to knees and Cas wasn't looking much better. The puppy was dripping, looking miserable with its fur in wet clumps and a little pissed off at being wet. But it was clean. The puppy shook itself, ears flapping as water sprayed them again.

At least it wasn't dirty, soapy water this time.

Castiel grabbed one of the motel towels and lifted the puppy from the sink, gently rubbing and tousling the towel over wet fur to dry it. The puppy's head poked out, panting softly.

Sam laughed as its eyes closed and enjoyed the attention, tongue hanging out. By the time Cas was done, the puppy seemed to have a second wind, wriggling until Cas set it down so he wouldn't drop it. The moment its small paws hit the faded carpet, it started rolling around, wriggling its back into the carpet and snuffling excitedly.

Now that the puppy wasn't filthy and starting to dry, its fur was fluffy and a lovely mahogany, glints of red highlights shining bright when the light hit it just right.

Castiel watched the puppy wriggle and roll, then running around in tight circles, smiling. He dried himself off a little, blotting at his damp shirt with the towel.

"I'll prepare the puppy's food if you want to change," he offered, nodding at Sam's wet clothes.

Sam nodded and headed to his duffle, pulling out something soft and comfortable. He didn't plan on going anywhere else tonight, might as well get comfortable. He clapped Cas on the shoulder as he headed to the bathroom. Cas was watching the puppy with a smile but he still looked troubled.

"Don't worry, Cas. Dean will throw a tantrum at first but he won't be a jerk about it for long."

Castiel merely nodded, sighing softly when the bathroom door closed behind Sam.

He knew Dean wouldn't be unreasonable when they explained the situation; Dean truly had a soft, caring heart even if he tried to hide it. But he was still worried, nervous Dean would still flat out refuse with a firm, loud "dammit, no dogs!". He didn't look forward to finding out how long Dean would hold a grudge, either.

He managed to get the small collar on a wriggling puppy, dodging the puppy's playful paws and gently discouraging playful nips. He stood and scrounged the room for a suitable food dish, aware of the puppy following him curiously before going back to rolling and wiggling on the carpet making small, playful growls and yips. He figured the ice bucket lid would do and popped the lid on the can of puppy food. He chuckled when the puppy's head perked up from his place on the carpet, ears flopping. He was quick to get to his feet and rushed over, gait clumsy and uncoordinated, yipping excitedly.

Castiel looked down at the puppy when it hopped up on hind legs, front paws seeking purchase on his calf. He chuckled as the puppy bounced energetically, yipping and pawing at him excitedly. He managed to get the food in the make-shift bowl and narrowly avoided a bouncing puppy skull to the chin as he bent down to place the food on the floor.

Sam came out of the bathroom just as the puppy was circling the lid, tail wagging as he licked it clean.

He eyed the empty 'food dish', then the puppy licking its muzzle and looking up at them hopefully. "Think he's still hungry?"

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "But I don't think it's wise to give it more food at the moment. Too much too soon isn't a good idea."

Sam nodded his agreement and sat on the bed. The puppy scrambled over, standing up and placing his front paws on Sam's shin. He bent over to pet the puppy's head, scratching behind one and making the puppy's tongue loll out with bliss. The puppy rolled onto its back, paws flopping lazily. He chuckled and obligingly scritched the puppy's rounded belly.

Oh. And it was a boy.

He looked at Cas, ready to plan what to do next, when he heard the impala's engine. His eyes widened and the panic came back.

Castiel looked out the window, smiling despite his own nerves when he saw Dean climb out of the driver's side. He was carrying two paper food bags and he looked pretty chipper.

He nearly crossed his fingers and hoped the good mood would work to their advantage. He watched Dean head right to Sam's room, lips pursed as he whistled happily, swinging his keys around his index finger as his shoulders moved in rhythm with the tune he was whistling. He nearly sighed like the lovesick idiot Dean teased him for being. (He didn't take offense when Dean quietly admitted he was the same, right after telling him 'never to tell Sam'—as if he even needed to.)

Sam scooped up the puppy and stared at the door wide-eyed, waiting for Dean. The puppy wriggled playfully in his lap and he stroked a hand down his back, tickling his belly through the soft mahogany fur when the puppy wiggled onto its back again.

Dean knocked on the door with a cheerful "open sesame, Sammy!". Sam and Castiel shared a wide-eyed look of panic. Dean knocked again, the muted sound of paper crinkling as he shifted the bags to the other hand. "Cas? You in there?"

"One moment!" Castiel yelled into the wood. Sam was scrambling, trying to get the puppy tucked up under his sleep shirt. The moment the fluffy tail was hidden from view, Castiel fumbled with the security chain and opened the door.

Dean breezed in with a cheerful wink at Cas, sliding a hand over his waist and pressing as kiss to a stubbled cheek in passing as he needed for the tiny desk-slash-table. He plopped the bags down and rolled his shoulders before sliding his jacket off. He'd spent too long on some lady's stiff parlor sofa and his back wasn't happy about it.

It took a moment for him to sense the awkward tension in the room. Cas and Sam were tense, eyes darting to each other before staring at him. He looked between them, catching another round of eyeball Morse code but having no clue what the message was.

"What's up with you two?"

Castiel was the first to speak, stepping forward when Sam made a last plea with his eyes for him to take this one.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean frowned a little. "Yeah, hey, Cas. What's going on?" he repeated, looking between Cas and Sam again. He stumbled back a step when he realized Sam's stomach was bulging out. And it was moving.

"Sam?"

Sam sighed and fished the puppy out. Dean looked ready to grab a knife and stab something... He didn't want that to be him or the puppy. He silently held the puppy up, gaze dropping to Dean's boots.

Castiel stepped closer, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean looked more surprised than anything. But he had a feeling that was only good until the shock wore off.

"What is that?" Dean demanded, pointing a finger at the wriggling fluff ball in Sam's hand.

"It's a puppy, Dean."

Dean sucked his teeth and glared at Cas. "I know it's a puppy, dammit. What's it doing here?" Sam and Cas shared another look and he groaned, waving his hands and shook his head. "No, c'mon—"

"We couldn't just leave him there, Dean," Sam said, bringing the puppy close and cuddling it protectively. He twitched and smothered a surprised laugh when a warm wet tongue dragged across his jaw. "Dumped there, alone and scared. Dirty and hungry."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to be swayed by the sob story. It was sad, yeah, but that didn't make it their job to take it in. They weren't exactly the prime example of what was an ideal home for a dog.

"We already had this talk, Sam." Sam hung his head sheepishly but didn't look like he'd be letting go of the ball of fluff any time soon. He looked to Cas for backup (because it was totally a perk to this whole couple thing to always have Cas on his side), but Cas was resolutely not looking at anything but the bags of food.

He huffed. "Dogs don't exactly go with what we do. We don't—"

"We have a home now," Castiel said quietly before Dean could continue. Sam had mentioned Dean's main complaint was 'no dogs in the impala, Sam' but he knew Dean well enough he thought Dean was just unwilling to admit he was more concerned with the sort of life a dog would have with them; always on the road, stuck in a car or a motel room all the time.

Castiel look a deep breath when Dean looked at him, lips and eyebrows pinched but otherwise looking like he was listening. Reluctant but listening.

Dean closed his eyes with a soft groan. Cas was right, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like, or acknowledge, it. He knew Sam wanted a dog since he was old enough to see other people with them and wanted something normal. But he didn't think Cas was all that interested in having a pet, even though he knew Cas liked animals well enough.

Sam saw the moment Dean's shoulders slumped a little and moved in, seeing his moment. He brought the puppy up higher and stepped on close to where Dean and Cas were having a stare-off. He cleared his throat and held the puppy up when Dean finally looked away from Cas to scowl at him for interrupting their moment.

He shared a look with Cas and then they both turned to Dean.

"Oh, fuck you all," Dean muttered when he saw he was getting three sets of puppy eyes—all trained on him and making him want to squirm. He closed his eyes and tried to hold onto his resolve.

But it was useless. Cas and Sam both knew him well enough to know the moment he'd cracked. And the damn furball probably smelled his weakness, too. It squirmed out of Sam's hands and practically leapt at him.

It was just a reflex to catch it, he didn't actually care.

He groaned again when he looked into liquid brown eyes, a tiny pink tongue lolling out as the puppy panted happily. And dammit, it was cute.

"You both suck," Dean muttered when he found himself petting soft mahogany fur, rubbing one warm, floppy ear. He couldn't help the smile when the puppy flopped onto its back and pawed at him until he went in for the belly rubs.

Son of a bitch, what had he become.

He looked up to see Sam and Cas grinning at him; Sam with smug triumph and Cas with soft affection that made him feel warm and light enough to not regret giving in.

Dean handed the puppy to Cas, completely unsurprised when the puppy yipped happily as he squirmed into Cas' hold, fluffy tail wagging a mile a minute, and started licking his chin. He made a mental note to make sure Cas washed off the puppy slobber before any more kissing happened.

"Any messes it makes are on you two," he said firmly, pointing between an enthusiastically nodding Cas and Sam. He grit his teeth when he felt like a damn TV-dad cliché but he didn't mind as much when Cas gave him a look and touched his arm meaningfully, gaze heated and warm at the same time.

He was looking forward to when they got back to their own room for the night.

They finally got around to eating and the puppy had another small meal when he started dancing and barking at Cas when he started eating. (Dean laughed at the puppy's ecstatic dance when he smelled the food—then flipped off Sam when he said they had the same eating habits).

Dean watched the puppy circle and paw at one of the spare towels before it flopped down with a sleepy huff. It was a tiny ball of fluff and he smothered the urge to 'awww'. Because it was cute. Relatively quiet when he wasn't demanding attention for something or other.

He sat next to Cas on the spare bed, gazing thoughtfully at the sleeping puppy. They were gonna need a better bed and proper food and water dishes. A better leash, too, since the one Sam got was cheap and thin and too short for the little guy to get enough slack for a decent lead to sniff and piss on everything.

He pulled out his phone and looked up the best brand of puppy food—the little guy was skin and bones. Something that would make his coat shiny, too, since it would probably stay long. And brushes, no sense in letting the little guy look a mess.

By the time he was looking into car safety gear for dogs, Sam was talking with Cas about schedules and what to do with the puppy on hunts ('he comes with, Sam. He's small enough to sneak in motel rooms when needed') or if he'd need special training ('I don't think we should overlook the importance of specialized training' that Dean figured meant sniffing out demons or how to shut up and hide so he wasn't werewolf chow if they got ambushed).

"What're we naming it, anyway?" Dean wondered aloud, looking up. Sam and Cas shared a look again and shrugged. "I like Lemmy," he said with a grin.

The looks he got from Sam and Cas made it clear they didn't. Oh well. They needed something to talk about during the drive home tomorrow, anyway.


	13. umber (rated K)

_Today's word:_  
Umber  
um·ber (ˈəmbər/)

a natural brown or reddish-brown earth pigment, umber is not one precise color, but a range of different colors; from medium to dark, from yellowish to reddish to grayish.

 _This chapter is rated **K**._

Enjoy.

* * *

Downtime isn't something Dean is used to anymore. Even spending it in the Bunker. But these days they have a lot of time on their hands with the (most recent) big threat gone, floating off into space like a damn cloud of doom. But it was good because Amara didn't nuke the universe, he didn't blow up like a roman candle full of souls (which is a feeling he will probably never get over and still gives him the heebie jeebies whenever he thinks about it too long).

Dean flops onto the sofa with a huff. Cas looks up from the TV for a moment, eyebrows raised in silent question. And maybe a little irritation at the interruption.

Dean is bored. And Dean hates being bored. A bored Dean is a Dean moments away from trouble.

He sighs and flops around some more, flinging himself over Cas' lap for a few moments before sitting up and turning to kick his feet over Cas' lap instead. He's nearly ready to just sit with Cas, let him work his massage mojo on his feet, but he's restless and twitching a few minutes later.

Dean fidgets, feet tapping together and swaying in Cas' lap, and tries his hand at making drip noises with his mouth.

He's just starting to get it when Cas shoos him away, that annoyed furrow between his eyebrows as he tells Dean to "go find something else to do if he's not going to let him watch in peace".

Dean nearly snorts. If there was something to _do_ , he wouldn't be bored dammit. But he goes. Because Cas paused the show just to give him a pissy look and he really doesn't want to push his luck and wind up sleeping on the lumpy couch.

Sam is out (with Eileen, no doubt, even though Sam was very careful not to say as much), so he wanders the Bunker for something to do. There are still a few rooms they haven't looked into fully, apparently, when he wanders down a hallway just past the garage door and he finds something that looks (and smells) like a woodworking room.

He feels along the wall for a light switch, flicking it and looking around. Huh. The room, like most in the Bunker, is well stocked. There's everything from huge table saws to the smallest chisel sets. It strikes him as odd before he figures it actually makes sense; the Men of Letters have tons of fancy boxes, for pretty much everything, and supernatural carvings they probably didn't want someone else knowing about. Easier to make your own boxes for cursed objects than deal with questions.

The room is well lit and huge, cavernous almost, to keep all the equipment and a huge shelving unit full of all kinds of wood.

He looks around again, hands on his a thoughtful expression on his face. It's been awhile since he's done anything with his hands and he's bored enough to not give a shit about splinters and sawdust all over him.

Cas finds him a few hours later. Dean would wonder how, but after so many years of it, he's just happy Cas manages it.  
He looks up from the small table he's sanding to see Cas in the doorway, looking at him with his head tilted, eyes warm. He switches off the sander and slides the goggles up to his forehead.

"Found something to do I see," Castiel says as he walks over to Dean. Dean grins at him and he can't help but smile back. Dean looks content and happy with himself. It's wonderful to see, especially after the way he's been stomping around the Bunker recently. He's not at all surprised to see Dean has talented hands, even with wood. (He smiles to himself as he imagines the inappropriate joke Dean would make about that.)

He looks at the table Dean's leaning on and raises his eyebrows. "It's lovely, Dean," he says sincerely, looking up to see Dean's cheeks pink and eyes averted at the compliment.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean says, clearing his throat and fighting the urge to fidget.

He's still getting used to Cas saying shit like that, with that warm tone in his voice and those blue eyes all sincere and bright with unveiled feelings. Cas doesn't bother censoring himself now that they're basically a proper damn couple and he doesn't have the heart to ask him to stop. It embarrasses the hell out of him but it also makes him feel like he's almost earned it when Cas says it like it's irrefutable fact.

He realizes they're staring—again—and looks away to get his thoughts back on track. He runs a careful hand over the table's surface, sneaking a glance at Cas. "It's for you."

Castiel hums appreciatively and smiles. "Thank you, Dean."

"I mean, it's not done yet," Dean points out, feeling like he needs to explain that it'll be better. Good enough. "I wanna add a little drawer," he says, pointing to the front where he's already chiseled out the tracks. He's still deciding on color. There's a damn rainbow of stain colors in the supply room; from light pine to dark cherry. He thinks Cas will like umber and it'll go with most of the furniture in their room, too. "And I wanna try the lathe out for the legs," he says, nodding at the plain square legs. "These are just temp—"

Castiel shuts Dean's ramblings up with a kiss, sliding his hand up to gently slide through Dean's hair and cup the back of his head. Once Dean relaxes into the kiss, returns it with enthusiasm, he pulls back with a bright smile. Dean looks dazed, as he usually does when Castiel surprises him with a kiss or tender touch.

"I'm sure it'll be beautiful and I look forward to receiving it."

Dean blinks slowly, brain coming back online after a moment. He has to wonder if Cas puts some mojo in his kisses that makes them scramble his brain like this.

"Awesome," he says with a grin.

Castiel spares a moment to enjoy the bright smile, fondness making him warm all over when it makes Dean's eyes crinkle happily, before backing away. As tempting as it is to stay and watch, he doesn't want to be a distraction.

"I'll let you get back to it."

Dean nearly argues, wanting to snag Cas by the belt loops for another kiss, but he does want to finish sanding the top of the table. It's nearly midnight and he doesn't wanna be here all night instead of in bed with Cas.

He nods and lowers his goggles again, winking when he sees Cas blatantly looking him over before heading out.


	14. cyan (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Cyan  
cy·an (/ˈsīˌan,ˈsīən/)

a greenish-blue color, halfway between blue and green on the color wheel

 _I went to the obvious for this one lol And another drabble because why not._

 _This chapter is rated **K**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean looked up at the annoyed groan. Cas was standing by the printer, glaring like he wanted to smite the damn thing.

"I hate computers."

Dean clapped Cas on the back and tried not to laugh at the cyan, magenta, and yellow mess on his hands and shirt.

The pout on Cas' face was getting harder to ignore and he went in for a kiss, rubbing Cas' back soothingly.

"What were you trying to print?" he asked.

Castiel looked mournfully at the ruined picture, a cat dangling and urging him to hang in there.

Dean couldn't help it this time. He laughed.


	15. emerald (rated M - prayer kink)

_Today's color:_  
Emerald  
em·er·ald (/ˈem(ə)rəld/)

a shade of clear, deep green. It is light and bright, with a faint bluish cast. The name comes from the color of the gemstone emerald.

 _So, back to the M rated stuff. heh I've been toying with the idea of a prayer kink fic for awhile and felt inspired to actually flesh something out of random notes._

 _This chapter is rated **M** for sexual situations. This chapter has prayer!kink.  
_

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Castiel stills when he hears a prayer directed at him. A prayer from Dean. It's not unusual for Dean to pray to him, but the tone is different. Different enough to get his immediate attention and put him on alert.

" _Cas_?" Dean's voice is soft, almost breathy. Is Dean running from something? Panicked and hiding? He can't tell and he tenses up, waiting.

Castiel cocks his head a little, listening intently, Hannah's voice no longer priority and just a low drone in the background. If he wasn't in the middle of an important meeting, he'd be at Dean's side in a blink. He hopes Dean isn't in mortal peril.

He continues listening intently, hoping Dean will continue, set his mind at ease. The angels would understand if he had to leave.

" _Cas._.."

Dean voice isn't as soft that time, the vowel of his name drawn out a little, ending in a soft, subtle hiss that usually means Dean's head is tilting back. Castiel's eyes narrow when he finally recognizes that tone.

Dean is—

A long breathy moan filters through his mind and he shifts in his seat, his body reacting without his permission to the sound. He knows that sound and he's involuntarily inundated with thoughts of Dean. Images of Dean. Of what Dean is probably doing to make those sounds.

" _Oh, fuck, Cas_."

Castiel closes his eyes, trying not to react. He can feel a few of his brothers and sisters attention shift to him for a moment and he makes the effort to sit still, remain calm and quiet. He inclines his head as an indicator to move on and thankfully, everyone's attention leaves him.

Then he gets a startlingly clear mental picture of Dean.

Alone, in a motel room.

The lights are on— all of them. Dean is splayed out on the motel's double bed, the lines of him stark and gorgeous against the emerald covers. Dean's jeans are undone and bunched hastily down to his knees, booted feet hanging off the edge of the bed. The urgency of Dean not even taking his boots off has desire blooming warm and sharp.

He swallows heavily when he can clearly make out what Dean is doing. Moving just a little, trying to be still but Castiel knows how pleasure makes it hard for Dean to be still. Dean is a vision; cock in hand, head tilted back, Adam's apple bobbing as he teases at himself with a loose fist.

Castiel can see every detail as if he were right there as Dean starts to slide a slick-shiny fist up, the flushed head slick and dark, shaft shiny with a mix of Dean's preferred lube and pre-come. He licks his lips, wishing he could be there. Kneeling before Dean, hands worshipping every bared inch of freckled skin, mouth pressed to the hard heat of him, gathering the clear little bead pearling at the tip with a flick of his tongue.

He can't though.

With an effort, he returns his attention to his present surroundings. Hannah glancing at him briefly, a light furrow between her brows that's part concern for his wandering attention and irritation at the interruption, before addressing the room at large.

It's like Dean can sense it, knows he's not paying attention to him any longer. Dean moans louder, high and needy, his hand speeding up just a little as he moans again, thighs spreading out as far as his jeans will let him.

" _Castiel_ ," Dean breaths out, head lolling to the side and giving Castiel a lovely glimpse of his flushed neck, pulse fluttering wildly. It's a low blow, moaning his proper name like that, one Dean knows Castiel finds hard to ignore. He nearly groans with the urge to kiss, nip and lick the heated skin.

Castiel fidgets, trying not to be tempted when Dean's other hand slides down, touch teasingly slow and feather-light, just how Dean likes. He nearly breaks with a panted out breath when Dean slides a finger down and back, pressing just so and moaning loudly. Both in prayer and vocally into the room.

.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean pants moving his hand to a better angle, teasing a little as he just circles with a light touch.

He can feel Cas watching; it's like a warm tickling along his skin. He groans softly, giving a few tugs before letting go. It's takes some effort, but the tease will be worth it.

"Should I get comfortable?" he asks aloud, keeping the prayer lines open so Cas can hear him, hands lazily rubbing up his stomach to his chest to tease at his nipples for a moment. He should probably leave Cas be, dude's important and all that, but it's been two damn weeks since he's seen Cas. _Three_ weeks since they've had a chance to do anything beyond a chaste kiss or a pat on the shoulder since they haven't had a moment alone.

He's a little desperate here. Sam going off on a research kick at the closest library left him too good a chance to pass up. He opens one eye but there's no Cas. No woosh of Angel Express dropping off a horny Cas ready to pounce and rock his world.

Oh well. He can work with Cas just wanting to listen.

Dean kicks off his boots, glad he loosened the laces, and shimmies out of his pants and boxer-briefs. He leans over and grabs the lube, settling back into the mattress with an eager little wiggle of his hips and shoulders. He figures he'll just continue but keep the lines open, let Cas have a little fun too. It's not often he's all that vocal when jerking off, too many years in close quarters was good practice for learning how to keep quiet, but he can try. For Cas.

He spares a moment to miss his Aneros Vice but mentally shrugs and palms the lube for a moment so it can warm up. Cas runs hot so the lube is never cold when Cas is handling things. He sighs softly, missing Cas with a sharp pang, and gets back into prayer mode.

"Got your ears on, Cas?" He pauses for a moment and smiles a little when he can tell that Cas is indeed listening. It's kind of a weird sensation after so many years of not expecting an answer the few times he prayed.

He likes this much better.

He lets his knees drop towards the bed and wriggles until he's in a better position. "You listening, Cas?" he asks, voice already gone a little breathy with anticipation, hitching softly with each tease of his fingers.

Shit, it's been too long.

.

Castiel twitches in his seat, the feeling of Dean's arousal practically slamming into him when Dean continues, somehow able to deliberately direct it right at him, the moan echoing in his prayers. There's longing there, sharp and clear, Dean missing him, and he nearly flies to him. A side-long glance from Eremiel has him staying put. Dean isn't in danger and he can't use sex as an excuse.

He tries to pay attention to his current surroundings but Dean's words are coming easier now, quicker as Dean's inhibitions fall by the wayside with his impending orgasm. As Dean continues to pleasure himself there are far more groans and gasps, moans and grunts than actual words. The sounds of Dean's pleasure mix with the slick sounds of movement, the soft rustle of blankets and squeak of the bed, the visual flickering behind his closed eyelids testing his resolve.

Castiel is enraptured, caught in the image of Dean biting his full bottom lip on the urge to moan, exhaling soft and shaky as Dean lets it go and the moan drifts across his consciousness in a long, drawn-out breath that has his fingertips whiting as he digs his fingers into his knees.

" _Cas_."

" _So good_ —fuck. _Cas._ "

Castiel's body tenses with ingrained habit the moment he realizes Dean is moments away from orgasm, his chest hitching, neck flushed, head tilted back into the pillow, both hands moving in an erratic tandem that has Dean rocking and writhing on the bed, words almost constant now that he's lost to pleasure.

The whispered ' _miss you, Cas, wish you were here_ ' nearly has him breaking, flying down to Dean in a blink. He longs to be right there, kiss the moans from Dean's mouth, lick in and taste every pleasured exhale and stuttered hiccuped groan.

He's trembling, face and neck hot, hands white knuckled in his lap as he watches Dean's body tense one final time before he's coming, moans and " _CasCas_ ohfuck _Cas_ " the only thing he hears. He relaxes in his chair as Dean does the same, relaxing into the rucked up emerald blanket with a long, sated sigh.

He hears Dean's pleasure slurred " _Was it good for you?_ " and smiles. He manages to compose himself and waits as patiently as he can for the most opportune time to leave.


	16. rose (rated K)

_Today's colo_ r:  
Rose  
rose (/rōz/)

a warm pink or light crimson color.

 _Just too many words about these two idiots holding hands._

 _This chapter is rated **K+**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam snickered and held up his hands. "I didn't say anything, Dean."

"You were freakin' thinking it," Dean said, pointing an accusing finger at his dick of a brother with his left hand.

Sam shook his head and went back to reading his menu. Even though he knew what was on it and he knew exactly what he wanted, he knew he needed to divert his attention. Away from the completely adorable sight of Castiel trying to hold Dean's hand under the table. And Dean trying to glare about it instead of skipping out of the booth like the sappy dork he really was (way, way deep) inside.

They all glanced up when the waitress appeared at their table in a cloud of cheap perfume and the annoying sound of gum popping. She looked them all over, tapping a pen on the edge of her order pad. "What can I get you boys?"

"Pancakes, large stack. Coffee and a side of bacon," Dean said, offering a brief smile to their bleached-blonde waitress. He went back to fending off Cas' insistent fingers, trying to find a way to get out of the girly hand-holding but not offend Cas at the same time. He was vaguely aware of Sam ordering his whole-grain, all organic hippy food and Cas asking for lightly toasted rye bread—extra marmalade—and hot tea. He nearly sighed; Cas' eating habits were almost as horrendous as Sam's.

Castiel resumed his efforts the moment the waitress walked away, feeling a little smug and warm at her moue of disappointment that none of them had bothered to flirt with her (even though she had tried, valiantly, to engage each of them). It was like playing a match of Thumb War, but with all their fingers, as Dean's agile fingers slipped through his own with each attempt.

" _Dean_."

Dean ignored the muttered, chastising tone. No way was he going to let Cas latch on to him, knowing Cas would be stuck to him like glue for the foreseeable future. Most times he couldn't even shake Cas when he needed the bathroom. He didn't mind the lack of personal space, he'd gotten over that 'issue' ages ago. But they're in _public_ dammit and Dean Winchester does not hold hands.

Especially with another guy. Even if Cas wasn't _actually_ a guy, it was way too complicated to explain angel vessels and celestial wavelengths and shit to the casual observer. They just saw the Brokeback Mountain action and made faces (which, unfortunately, he couldn't remove with a salt round or a fireplace poker to the face).

Or, worse, made gooey faces and cooed at them and called them a cute couple. _Cute_. Ugh, they were manly and sexy—not _cute_.

" _Cas_ ," he mocked back, matching the angel's tone, and sliding his right hand into his lap and out of Cas immediate reach. As much as he didn't want to be attached at the hands like second graders on a field trip, he wasn't quite ready to move away. He didn't bother making use of the extra 6 inches to his left. There was a pleasant sort of security having Cas so close, feeling his too-warm body and their shoulders brushing occasionally.

Castiel huffed softly and eyed the hand he'd been reaching for that was now 'safely' tucked in Dean's lap. He eyed it for a long moment, long enough to make Sam snicker again and roll his eyes in mock exasperation. He glanced across the table but the younger Winchester wasn't at all bothered, merely putting on airs but unable to entirely hide his amusement and affection. He wondered if Sam becoming extremely interested in arranging his silverware was a deliberate ploy to divert his attention.

The waitress was back with their drinks, her lips a shiny rose of fresh lip gloss. He looked back at Dean and watched him spin his coffee mug, setting the handle on the proper side, with another small smile. Most of Dean's attention was on the warm ceramic pressed into his palm instead of the waitress' flirty smile. He ignored her as she set down his ice water, feeling only a twinge of remorse for doing so. It wasn't her fault Dean was extremely attractive and a habitual flirt. As much as he wanted to, he really couldn't blame her for trying for his attentions because it was not at all apparent that Dean wasn't available.

Because he wasn't. Even if he was averse to blatantly advertising whom he was taken by outside the seclusion on a motel room or the Impala, at least Dean didn't act 'single and ready to mingle' otherwise.

Castiel's brows furrowed a little and he redoubled his earlier efforts. He didn't care if he was being ridiculous, he wants to be connected to Dean and he was going to. He'd learned from Dean to be persistent when trying to achieve what he wanted and he's quite sure he can out-stubborn Dean with patience alone.

"Cas!" Dean hissed under his breath. He jerked his hand away when Cas made another grab for it, fingers brushing over his inner thigh in the process. Jesus. Five minutes pressed close to Cas and one accidental touch and he was half-hard. Freakin' pathetic.

He turned his head to glare and nearly groaned; that was a freakin' stupid idea. Cas was staring at him, that intense look he got just before he did something that really got Dean's engine revved.

Castiel slid closer to Dean and made another grab for his hand. "Please, Dean," he murmured, ensuring his hand didn't stray too close to Dean's crotch again. As pleasing at it was to touch Dean intimately, he was very aware public places were not conducive to that activity. Dean would not relent to what he wanted if he felt embarrassed. He lightly tapped his fingers along the top of Dean's thigh.

He cocked his head slightly and gave Dean a practiced look from under his lashes. "I promise to keep our hands under the table."

And just like that, Dean felt like a complete jerk and Batman at the same time. Cas was giving him The Look but offering to keep things hidden for his sake. Even knowing how big a dick he was being about it didn't quite get rid of that sappy, warm feeling Cas caused. He surreptitiously looked around, noticed they weren't getting anyone's attention, and hunched his shoulders a little. "Yeah," he finally said, giving in. Like there was any real chance he wasn't going to.

He sighed softly, moving his hand to rest over Cas'. Immediately, Cas' hand flipped over and their fingers were slotted together. He let their entwined hands rest on his thigh, trying not to care their hands were visible enough to anyone walking past. Maybe even Sam since he was so tall and nosy.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel murmured, squeezing Dean's hand affectionately, leaning closer briefly so he wasn't overheard. Dean tensed a little and he rubbed his thumb over the back of Dean's hand hoping to sooth his unease.

"Don't—" Dean cleared his throat and side-eyed Cas. "Don't thank me for that. I shouldn't be a dick about it."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and leaned in to study Dean's face, unsure what to say. He was grateful, even if he didn't always think he should have to ask for such liberties. Other couples didn't usually over-think small affectionate gestures. Did he agree, because he didn't think Dean should be so hesitant (even if he understood the way most of human society still viewed same gendered pairing)? Or did he sooth Dean, because he didn't think Dean was being a dick? He settled for a smile and a nod, shuffling closer, their sides pressed warmly against each other.

Both looked up when Sam cleared his throat. Loudly.

"What?" Dean asked, glaring across the table at his brother. They weren't groping each other or even being overly gross, as Sam liked to accuse them of being. He continued his glaring contest with Sam even as their food was brought over and put in front of them. He dropped his face only so he could inhale the steam coming off his pancakes.

Sam grinned, gaze darting down to where he could just make out the fact his brother and Cas were holding hands. He couldn't see their clasped hands, but he could tell by the way their arms were angled. He didn't intend to make fun, because it was kind of adorable and awesome. He was actually proud of Dean, too. But he really couldn't say any of those things without Dean being an asshole about it. He didn't want to ruin the moment and Cas didn't deserve Dean being a dick in public. Again.

"Nothing," he finally said. "Just swallowed a lemon seed." Dean narrowed his eyes for a second then went back to stuffing his face with pancakes, somehow still managing to inhale all 3 using only one hand. He took out some of the notes he'd been working on when Dean and Cas had wandered off together earlier, flipping open his notebook and pushing it towards Dean so he could see it. Dean shoveled the last of his syrup-soaked pancakes into his mouth and set his fork down on the plate.

And if Dean only used his right hand, his left happily occupied, Sam didn't comment on it because he was an adult like that.


	17. aqua (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Aqua  
aq·ua (/ˈäkwə/)

a light bluish-green color; aquamarine.

 _*long sigh* I don't even know... Just some random babble about personal grooming._

 _This chapter is rated **K**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

"Cas, man, you're turning into Grizzly Adams," Dean says through a chuckle.

He doesn't mention the slightly overripe smell coming from the ex-angel, though. He's learned Cas is kinda sensitive about his human-ness these days. And coaching Cas through the process of a shower, or maybe that they require regular occurrences, isn't gonna happen any time soon. Mostly because he can't think of a way that doesn't involve some hands-on training. And he's honest enough with himself, for once, to admit that he's not quite ready to deal that just yet.

Maybe Sam will take one for the team; _he_ doesn't get awkward boners around their friendly neighborhood ex-angel at random times. (Well, he hopes the fuck not.)

Castiel squints, trying (and failing, as usual) to understand Dean's words. He knows they're significant but not their significance; he's aware of who Grizzly Adams was, but not how it relates, contextually, to him. His lips press together when Dean chuckles again, even though it's a warm sound and not mocking. He still doesn't like not knowing things, especially when coming from Dean. His 'education' in all things pop culture has been fixed but he's having trouble figuring out how it relates to himself at the moment.

Dean points at his own face, indicating the 2 weeks worth of facial hair on Cas' face. It just looks... wrong. He doesn't like it and he's not even going to bother asking himself why. It's just not Cas and the ZZ Top wanna-be look needs to go. Like, freakin' 2 weeks ago.

"Oh." Castiel rubs a hand over the wild, coarse hair on his face and grimaces. It rasps against his palm unpleasantly and he quickly drops his hand. He doesn't like it (probably less than Dean does, going by the other man's expression) but he doesn't know how to get rid of it.

He hadn't much use for such grooming tips up until now. He says as much, earning a strange reaction from Dean: Dean blinks at him; four times, rapidly. Then he laughs. It's a nice laugh; once again not mocking or cruel—just surprised amusement. Even if it's at his expense, he doesn't mind so much when Dean laughs this time because his entire being is warm and happy at the sound.

For a few moments, anyway. His breaks from the reality of his mortality don't last long, unfortunately, and the warm bubbly feeling dissipates soon after Dean's laughter ebbs into soft chuckles and fond head shakes.

Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, laughter tapering off into soft chuckles and finally just a smile. Cas just stares at him (he's gonna have to work on that staring thing). "Don't sweat it, man. I'll show you," he says proudly.

Shaving should be safe enough... Not like the shower thing. No chance of nudity, no thoughts of so much wet-slick-slippery naked skin and no chances of bad-touching involved with that. Cas eagerly nods his agreement and he squeezes the hand he hasn't taken off Cas' shoulder and uses it to lead Cas towards the bathroom.

It's a tedious process, they both discover, to shave a beard versus only a few days growth.

Dean has to start with a pair of scissors, then some clippers he was lucky enough to find in the Bunker's well-stocked bathroom to get most of the hair off. It hadn't been easy, trying to ignore Cas' intense expression of concentration as he did so, blue eyes crossing a few times with the effort to see what Dean was doing.

It took longer than Dean expected, too; Cas is a hairy little bastard. By the time he clicks the clippers off, Cas almost looks normal again with the slightly longer than usual stubble gracing most of the lower half of his face. Like he'd had a dirty weekend and couldn't be bothered to shave. Dean's mind flashes him images of just what would happen during such a weekend and he has to shake his head to get those thoughts out.

Well, that's an awkward tangent.

Dean clears his throat and gathers all the shaving gear they'll need, trying to avoid Cas' intense gaze while not looking like he's avoiding it.

Cas had watches with wonder as he squirts the shaving foam into his palm, the bright aqua gel turning into a thick, white foam soon after.

It's surprisingly difficult to teach a grown-ass man to shave when Dean doesn't even think about the task anymore. He just does it, mind going off to other things while his hands handle the mundane chore or slathering on shaving foam and taking the razor to his stubble.

But now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the pair of them sporting foam beards and holding razors, he kinda wishes he hadn't offered. It feels really weird to be doing this with Cas, mostly because they're standing really close together so they can both use the mirror. He shakes the feeling of Cas' mirror-eyes staring intently at him and holds his razor aloft, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his fingers curling around the handle securely. Cas immediately mimics him, eyes rapidly flicking between the mirror, his hand and his face.

"Good," Dean murmurs. He bends at the waist, Cas mirroring him immediately. "Now, let's shave." Cas nods solemnly at him and pays close attention, following every move Dean does with his eyes instead of his hands first then slowly doing it himself. It's slow going, but Cas' is looking less Tarzan-y by the minute. He's making the usual faces as he gets all the awkward spots and he notices Cas is just standing there, gawking.

Dean's hands stop their movements and his brow furrows as he glances at Cas from the corner of his eye. "What?"

Castiel looks down at his razor before glancing back at his reflection. "Are the... expressions mandatory?" he finally asks.

Dean nearly laughs aloud. Because, yeah, the goofy faces are kinda necessary to get all the nooks and crannies. He shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulling down briefly. "Yeah," he finally says and just goes back to shaving. He raises his eyebrows until Cas stops freakin' staring and finally turns back to the mirror.

He's glad he waited to put the razor to his face because Cas' nose scrunching up so the other man can get to the patch of skin under his nose is hilarious. And when Cas turns towards him, eyebrows pinched together and his face scrunched to the side still, he loses it completely.

Castiel watches Dean go into a full-blown laughing fit. He's not sure what's funny but he doesn't say anything to interrupt Dean's enjoyment of the moment. Once Dean gets himself under control, laughter tapering off into sporadic chuckles and hiccups, he wiggles his foam and stubble covered razor.

"I believe I'm done, Dean."

Dean nods, reaching up and moving Cas' face around to check all the angles. His thumb brushes against a spot Cas missed and he realizes then that he's holding Cas' face, the touch a little too gentle for what he's supposed to be doing. He drops his hand and eyes, coughing lightly. He gestures towards Cas' face and goes back to finishing up his own face, nearly slicing his neck open in his haste to get the fuck done already.

"Missed a spot, right by your jaw there," he says, swishing his razor in the sink and tapping it a few times to clear it. He grabs a towel and pats his face off, hiding in the terrycloth softness for a bit longer than he needs to. He lowers the towel and Cas just gives him another look, silently asking if he's done. He just nods; no way is he going to smooth his hands all over Cas' face to check. Again.

Castiel nods and follows the steps Dean took to clear his razor out and takes the towel from Dean, scrubbing at his face with it. It's snatched away and he blinks a few times. "Dean?"

"Not like that, man. You're gonna—" Dean stops and just shakes his head, reaching over and gently patting Cas' face dry. It's already red in spots from the heavy scrub job Cas was doing to it. He almost wishes he had some of that lotion stuff Sam uses but he does not want to explain to his brother why he needs it. He knows Sam will lend it to Cas but he so doesn't want the snickering and doe-eyed look Sam would no-doubt give him.

Castiel stays still as he's patted dry, humming softly under his breath at the soft touches. Much better than when he did it. "Thank you, Dean." He smiles, pleased to feel the difference in the lack of facial hair as he does so.

"Like a baby's butt," Dean says brightly, patting one smooth cheek. Cas' brows wrinkle and he chuckles, holding up a hand before Cas can get pissed off at being compared to an infant or something. "It's just a saying, okay? I'm sure you can figure out why."

Castiel nods slowly, running a hand along his freshly shaven cheek. It is smooth. Soft. He reaches out and does the same to Dean's, feeling for any differences. Dean's skin is surprisingly soft and smooth as well. And warm. He pulls his hand back, unsure if he should bring up the fact that Dean is now flushed, a tinge of pink to his face. He narrows his eyes a little and leans closer, hoping he hasn't irritated the skin unnecessarily.

"See?" Dean blurts out, leaning back and silently thanking who-the-fuck-ever his voice didn't come out in a squeak. He nods once and practically runs from the bathroom, rushing to his room and shutting the door with a soft bang. OK. So, Cas fondled his face. No biggie, right? Nope, totally just a thing buddies did in the moment and that's that.

Of course, when he finally slinks out of his room for dinner, Sam and Cas are both in the kitchen. He snaps a quick wave and grunts something about food.

Sam snorts softly and points to the stove, indicating the pan of lasagna, as he shuffles past and heads to the table. Cas follows him, his own plate loaded with a large, steaming portion of lasagna. It's still kinda weird seeing Cas eat, but he looks interested in his plate, sniffing at the fragrant steam and nodding his approval.

They're still figuring out what kind of food Cas likes, but so far he's not been especially picky as long as they don't try to give him any sort of seafood or dubiously spiced condiment.

Sam points to his own face with his fork, leaning in a little. "Got rid of the face-fur huh, Cas?" He puts his fork to use and tucks a large bite into his mouth before looking up at Cas, chewing as he waits for an answer.

"Yes," Castiel says, smiling a little. He waits for Dean to sit down before starting in on his food, cutting into it carefully and blowing on it so it won't burn his tongue. He's already experienced that unpleasant side-effect of hot food and he has no desire of a repeat. "Dean helped me."

Dean stares at his plate but he can still feel Sam looking at him, smiling that dorky ass smile he's been trotting out whenever he makes assumptions about him and Cas. Wrong assumptions, of course, but Sam just waves him off with that condescending 'yeah yeah' attitude like he's not buying what Dean's selling, so he's stopped trying to convince his brother he doesn't know a damn thing. It just doesn't work and it's so not worth the ulcer.

"Yup," he says shortly, shoving food into his mouth until his cheeks bulge so he won't have to say anything else.

"Aww," Sam coos, possibly being a little more obnoxious than usual just because Dean is staring a hole through his dinner and the back of his neck is all red. It seriously almost matches the red plaid of his collar. Which is... impressive. "That's nice of you, Dean."

Castiel nods, missing Sam's teasing tone, and cuts another piece of lasagna. "Yes, it was very helpful. I wouldn't have done near as good a job without Dean's assistance."

"Did he make sure you didn't miss any spots?" Sam asks, voice a little choked as he tries to speak around the laugh trying to bubble out.

Castiel nods as he carefully chews his food, wiping his mouth with his napkin and oblivious to Sam's amusement and Dean's increasing embarrassment (neither are new things, though, so it's rather normal as far as he's concerned). "Yes," he agrees, turning his plate so he can cut another chunk of lasagna.

He doesn't add that Dean wasn't as thorough as he would've liked, his hands weren't on Castiel's skin long enough for his liking. He doesn't know why, but he's aware that saying things like that makes Dean pink up and avoid him (and Sam) for a while. He focuses on eating instead, oddly grateful Sam doesn't say anything else and they enjoy their dinner in comfortable silence for the most part.

Dean is the first one done eating but he stays at the table, finishing his beer and enjoying the company. Sam stopped being a brat, so the urge to hide in the kitchen with the dirty dishes is long gone.


	18. tangerine (rated T)

_Today's color:_  
Tangerine  
tan·ge·rine (/ˌtanjəˈrēn/)

a reddish to vivid orange color, like that of a tangerine fruit.

 _I was inspired by Misha's love of orange underwear lol So, now Cas does too since I don't think he'd give two craps what his underwear looks like. Also, there will be some minor spoilers for season 12—so continue with caution if you're not caught up and don't enjoy spoilers._

 _This chapter is rated **T** for mild coarse language and sexually suggestive content._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean takes a moment to breathe, rolling his shoulders and making himself relax a little. The Bunker is quiet, even though there's four people living here now. Sam's back and finally sleeping peacefully (he checked, old habits die hard). His mom is back, in a room two doors down from Sam, and sleeping too. Cas is even here, which settles him more than he's expecting it to.

He checks the Bunker one last time before he heads to bed, still feeling too-exposed and unsettled since they've had unwanted visitors. Cas helped with some better sigils and warding but he still has to make sure before he can turn in for the night. Another old habit he hasn't tried hard to break.

He runs into Cas at the front entrance, heartbeat thumping erratically from surprise. Cas looks sleep rumpled, comfortable in sweatpants and an old T-shirt he thought he'd lost in a laundromat a few months back. He stares for a long moment before frowning.

"Cas," he says, voice a little breathy, hand on his chest. He thought Cas was sleeping, still a little wiped from the whammie the suped-up banishing sigil and those nasty brass knuckles put on him. "What're you doin' up?"

Castiel shuffles in place, glancing down the quiet hallway before meeting Dean's eyes. He feels bad he's startled Dean, especially after the stressful last few days.

"I couldn't sleep," he admits, looking away for a moment.

He'd had a talk with Mary before she went to bed, her questions about him and Dean bringing up his own questions. Questions he'd been content with leaving alone, questions he didn't think would ever get answered. And he'd made peace with it. But then Dean walked away to die and he'd regretted every time he didn't ask, every time he didn't broach the issue himself. Hugging Dean that last time wasn't the moment, he knew that.

But now.

It's been three days since he's had a moment with Dean, three days since he found out Dean was alive, the feeling of weak-kneed relief still hits him whenever he looks at Dean.

Dean tsks softly and pats Cas on the shoulder. He's been there. He slides his hand down to Cas' arm, tugging lightly to get Cas to follow him. Cas does, of course, and they head to the kitchen. It's only when he flicks the lights on does he realize his hand is still on Cas. But Cas looks perfectly happy to leave it there, even leans in closer.

He's tempted to drop his hand, move to the cabinet he keeps the hot chocolate and stick to the original plan, but he can't. He nearly died without ever telling Cas the truth and that's just not something he's happy to ignore anymore.

Castiel looks at Dean, head tilting a little when he sees the expression on Dean's face. It's not something he'd ever expected to see when Dean knew he was looking. He exhales softly, warmth filling him when Dean leans in. He knows they should talk, but Dean's hand sliding down to intimately cup his hip is distracting, the other gently holding his chin between thumb and forefinger steals any words he might've had.

It's only been three days, but with everything that's happened, Dean's surprised it took them this long. There's a long moment of staring, Dean working up the courage to go those last inches, trying to quiet the inner voice telling him Cas isn't into him like this, that he'll push to far and ruin everything.

He's surprised Cas moves first, leaning in with a soft sound that makes heat flush over his skin and through his entire body. His eyes flutter closed with anticipation. Cas' hands are tight on his face but he barely feels it when their lips meet.

It's awkward for a moment when Cas just leans against him, lips pressed together. But he's angling his head and Dean kisses back with a soft groan. He'd been afraid kissing Cas would be weird, that hard features and stubble might be different enough to make this a bad idea. But it lights him up, feels right and good to have Cas like this.

Cas isn't passive, not now that Dean makes a pleased little hum and deepens the kiss.

He's not sure how they go from a tentative kiss to this; pressed tight against each other, rutting and panting into each other's mouths. But it feels too damn good to think about too long.

Cas breathing hot and wet into his mouth, hands slipping boldly down the back of his sleep pants as he presses closer. The thin sweatpants do little to hide that Cas is half hard, pressing hot and insistent against him. It's another thing he thought would break him from the moment but it just heats him up even more, sends a shock of pleasure though him. He moans, pleased to know Cas is enjoying this, wants it too.

Dean slips a hand down Cas' lower back, body heating all over when Cas makes a guttural sound of pleasure and presses into his hand eagerly, mouth hot and firm against his. He fumbles with the waistband of Cas' pants and nearly loses it when he pulls away to kiss down Cas' neck and sees a flash of tangerine. The ridiculous underwear that he'd picked out with a happy little grin, shaking his head at Dean's sensible package of plain white.

He almost ruins the moment laughing, the same warm feeling of affection bubbling through him that day, even as he palms Cas' ass through the ridiculous underwear. And oh, he's got his hand down Cas' pants. He follows the elastic band over hard hipbones. The urge to laugh leaves as quickly as it came at the feeling of Cas hot and firm in his hand, the deep moan from Cas makes him shudder with pleasure. Bright tangerine is less ridiculous when he traces the hard shape of Cas through the soft, thin cotton, his hips twitching towards Cas just as eagerly.

Dean goes with a guttural moan when Cas pushes him up against the fridge, a clinking rattle of bottles from inside drowned out by sound Cas makes as he goes back in for another kiss.

He palms eagerly at Cas' ass, groaning softly when Cas grinds their hips together with a soft growl. He bites off a curse when teeth nip at his bottom lip and down to his neck. Cas makes a soft sound against his throat, lips soft as the kisses gentle he places in a line along Dean's collarbone, unbearably soft and sweet. The kisses stop and Cas' forehead thumps to his shoulder, hands gripping his upper arms tight.

He's panting, a little thrown by the sudden change, but wraps his arms around Cas. He presses a soft kiss to Cas' hair when he can feel Cas' breathing stutter, a rush of moist heat against him when Cas exhales in a shaky rush.

They stand quietly for a moment, the heated rush dissipating as they cling to each other. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what changed to have Cas' face pressed into his neck with a soft, wet snuffle.

"I thought you were dead," Castiel whispers. He tightens his grip on Dean, eyes hot and throat tight. "I thought you'd died and I never got to tell you—"

"I know, Cas," Dean murmurs, running his hands over Cas' heaving back. "I know. Me too." He tucks his face close to Cas' and goes with the quiet moment, holding Cas and letting him calm down. It's been a tough few days and he still has to remind himself that this shit affects Cas now.

By the time Cas' hold loosens, they're both breathing normally and no longer flushed. He ditches the hot chocolate plan and takes Cas' hand. "C'mon," he murmurs, urging Cas out of the kitchen and down to his room. It's a little strange having someone else in his room, but Cas fills the space unobtrusively, like he fits right in alongside the pictures and weapons. Dean fidgets a little as Cas looks around as he settles on the edge of his bed.

He sits next to Cas, hesitating only a moment before taking his hand, lacing their fingers and resting them on his knee, running his thumb back and forth along any part of Cas' hand he can reach.

A gentle warmth coils lazily, relaxing him. Exhaustion catches up with him and he yawns, eyes watering a little. His eyes are gritty and tired and he's pretty sure he could sleep for hours. He looks to Cas, almost regretting the earlier heat has cooled to this comforting warmth, but this is good, too. And he's pretty sure they'll get there again.

He looks with surprise when Cas pulls away and stands up. His head drops, trying to hide his disappointment. He didn't expect things to change overnight, but—

Cas is pulling the sheets back and climbing into the free side of the bed. Dean stares for a long moment, stunned, before finally getting a move on and doing the same.

He doesn't know what he's expecting, but Cas just rolls onto his side and looks at him, a small warm smile nearly buried in the spare pillow. He's tempted to scoot closer, maybe take Cas' hand, but it's too new yet. It's weird having someone this close, just there and in his bed, but that it's Cas seems almost normal. Normal enough his eyes are closing and he's sinking into his memory foam with a yawn and a sleepy "Night, Cas."

Dean drifts off just after the whispered "Good night, Dean."


	19. forest green (rated T)

_Today's color:_  
Forest green  
for·est green (/ˈfôrəst ɡrēn/)

A dark shade of green without perceptible tinting of other hues, color range includes the color of pine trees and dark leafy plants

 _Just a short little thing about Cas and Dean and clothes._

 _This chapter is rated **T**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean stares, mouth opened enough to make it known he's actually panting. But it's not like he can be blamed or anything. Because Cas, the adorable asshole, is standing there in _his_ clothes.

And it's... Well, it's pushing all sorts of weird little _mine!_ buttons he didn't even know he had. He knows he's a possessive bastard—any time someone looks at his angel, Cas is usually covered in juvenile hickeys the next morning—but this. _This_ is a whole new level of weird caveman behavior.

And he's pretty sure Cas knows it, the little shit. Because he's wearing that I'm-trying-to-be-subtle cocky expression that just barely pulls up one side of his mouth in a subtle smirk and his eyes go all heavy lidded.

"Uh," Dean finally breathes out, tongue feeling too big and pants feeling too tight. "Cas?" His gaze lowers to the faded T-shirt, the forest green now a soft heathered green with a fraying hole in the armpit, and jeans. It's awesome to see Cas in jeans, _his_ jeans especially, but they don't have time for this shit.

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Dean?"

"What the hell are you wearing, man?"

Castiel looks down, eyebrows drawn together as he studies his clothing. He looks back up at Dean, trying for calm patience. "Clothes, Dean."

"Yeah, I can see that, dickhead," Dean says, trying not to laugh. "But. Uh. Why you wearing _my_ stuff?"

"I was under the impression these no longer fit you," Castiel says carefully. Sam had given him a small pile of old clothes, digging them out from an old duffle and sniffing them to make sure they were clean. He fingers the hem of the T-shirt, enjoying the soft cotton. He also enjoys that these were Dean's clothes. It strikes him as intimate, especially when there's still a faint hint of _Dean_ in the fabric.

Dean nods. "Yeah. That's true," he mutters, looking Cas up and down again. As much as he likes seeing Cas in his stuff, he's got a feeling Cas likes wearing it just as much. And he did kinda walk into this whole mess by flat-out refusing to take Cas to try paintball in his goober suit. He didn't realize Cas didn't have any other clothes. He kind of feels like the worst person ever to have not noticed before now. He makes a mental note to thank Sam (or at least, refrain from greasing his door knob for a week or so).

"Is this—suitable?" Castiel asks, holding his arms out and giving a little spin like he's seen people do to model an outfit. He glances over his shoulder at Dean, amused more than anything when he realizes Dean's silence is due to staring. At his butt. He bends a little at the waist, picking up the hem of the T-shirt and emphasizing the area for Dean's enjoyment, fighting a smile. "Good fit?"

Dean nods, licking his bottom lip as he stares. "Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, looks good, Cas. Real good."

He manages to get himself under control enough to get into the car without getting weird looks from Sam and his mom. And he keeps himself collected enough to take out Sam and his mom 3 out of 5 during paintball. The moment they get back, he's dragging Cas back to their room to get those damn clothes off him.


	20. violet (rated T - temporary genderswap)

_Today's word:_  
Violet  
Vi·o·let (/vī(ə)lət/)

a slightly bluish medium purple color named for the violet flower

 _Awhile ago, I was dared to do a genderswap fic... and I finally had some motivation to do so, so ta-da! Don't expect anything serious, though, okay? lol (And there's some Sabriel [Sam/Gabriel] thrown in because why not?)_

 _This chapter is rated **T**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Castiel startles awake at the high-pitched shriek coming from the bathroom, sleep gone and senses on high alert as he rolls out of the bed. He lands in a defensive crouch and looks around. He didn't recognize the voice and he's instantly wary, grabbing the nearest weapon and staring at the door. He doesn't know if he should barge in swinging or wait for whomever it is to come out. Both options have high risk.

He's still pondering the options when the door flies open and a woman stands in the open doorway, gaping at him. She's nude and he can't seem to stop himself from looking her over. The visage does little for him and he cocks his head a little as he regards full breasts and soft curves curiously. And an anti-possession tattoo, tantalizingly perched over one soft swell. His brows draw together but before he can speak, the young woman is right in front of him. He's momentarily distracted by green eyes and barely-there freckles.

"Cas!"

Castiel blinks, weapon drooping a little in his hands in his surprise. "Do I know you, ma'am?"

" _Ma'am_?" Brown eyebrows fly up and his nose wrinkles in an admittedly adorable fashion. He's looked; he's freakin' hot. But confused. And kind of scared. And really fucking confused. "Cas, it's me, Dean."

Castiel blinks some more, eyes narrowing as he shuffles forward. He studies the young woman a little closer, noticing... similarities. The height is about the same, same hair color—though longer and in feminine waves—and there's the familiar patterns of freckles in all the same spots. Just... womanly parts as well. He looks down, unable to contain a small sound of distress to see different genitalia. He's never expected to be partial to one set over another, but he definitely finds himself missing Dean's lovely—

Something different in his lower peripheral vision cuts off his train of thought and he jumps a little, startled.

"Yo, man," Dean says, snapping his fingers. As much as he's enjoying Cas checking him out, he's pretty sure Cas has no idea he's in the same boat. Cas' head snaps up, blue eyes wide and blinking rapidly. Ah. Nope. Cas realizes. Poor guy. He watches as Cas gapes at his own body, eyes getting a little wider as he realizes he's got boobs too. Nice boobs, if Dean's being honest.

Castiel drops the kanabo, the metal studs clacking against the floor dully, and brings both hands to his chest, awkwardly touching his breasts. They're... squishy. Sensitive as well, apparently, because his nipples contract almost immediately and peak alluringly. He covers them with his hands, face hot.

He looks at Dean, freely showing his panic. "Dean?"

"I have no idea, Cas," Dean says, shrugging. He can feel his boobs jiggle with the motion and it's kind of fun. He shimmies his shoulders and laughs when Cas' gaze drops down and he stares, slightly-longer lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "Like 'em?" he asks, giving Cas another shoulder shimmy. Cas is still holding his own, pressing his palms into them tight enough to squish them, like he's afraid they're going to fall off or something.

Castiel shrugs helplessly, unsure how to answer. "I think so? I don't know, Dean. I do not like mine, though," he says, glaring down at his own chest. He shifts his hands, trying to adjust his breasts, but nothing happens. They just... flop a little and bounce. It's uncomfortable and he resumes holding them.

"S'cool if you do. 'Cause I gotta say, Cas—" Dean pauses to look Cas over. "You make a hot girl," he adds, laughing again when Cas gets all squinty eyed at him, mouth pursing with annoyance. The Squinty-eyed Look of Angelic Doom doesn't at all change the fact that Cas is one sexy-ass woman. His boobs are bigger than he'd expect, squishing out around his hands in a way that's oddly sexy. His face isn't as squared or stubbly, Dean notices with an annoyed little pang of loss. But Cas' legs are still awesome, just as muscled and long but hairless now.

He finally gets closer, needing to touch. He'd already fondled himself a little, mostly to make sure he wasn't having some weird fever dream. He'd felt every poke and pinch. He'd been contemplating checking down south a little better, an embarrassing shriek coming out when he noticed his dick was gone. He bolted when he heard Cas grabbing his kanabo off the wall.

Dean runs a hand through Cas' hair, still short and messy, soft and dark, pleased to see that even Girl Cas likes getting his—her?—scalp scratched and massaged in all the same spots.

"How long do you think this will last?" he asks, eyeing Cas for any nuance in his expression. Cas has upped his lying game but he still can't quite get anything past him; he knows Cas too well and can spot a tell a mile off. Especially for the big, important stuff.

Castiel looks away, brows pinched in thought. "I don't know. I can't even begin guess if I don't know what happened in the first place."

Dean rolls his eyes and throws his hands up. His boobs bounce again and he makes a girly little giggle. "Shut up," he says, lifting his chin a little when Cas gives him The Eye. "I can giggle if I'm a girl." Cas just continues to look at him, expression a little pinched and pissy, but doesn't comment. He sighs and contents himself with fondling his girly butt for a minute. Who knows how long this will stay and he's curious. He looks up and grins when he catches Cas watching him.

And maybe he sidles a little closer, still amused to see Cas holding his boobs. He's tempted to push Cas' hands away and take over, but he can tell by that pinched expression Cas isn't going to be enjoying this any time soon. He guesses Cas got a little attached to his male vessel and doesn't like change.

Dean drops his hands with a soft sigh. "Okay. Well. Who else pulls stupid, crazy shit like this?"

Castiel's lips thin and he's annoyed it hadn't been his first thought. "Ah," he says, refraining from saying the archangel's name aloud. It has the unfortunate effect of bringing him like a summoning sigil and he knows neither of them want Gabriel in their presence at the moment.

He sighs and his arms flop down, tired from holding his breasts up. His nipples are still peaked and Dean's eyes are on them the moment they are bared. "No."

"Aw, why not?" Dean says through a whine. "Maybe that's what'll change us back?" he asks with an eyebrow wiggle, stepping closer until their chests are touching. And OK, it's really hot to feel their boobs press together. He hears Cas breathing shift just enough and he's about ready to do a victory dance at the chance for some girl-on-girl action when Cas eases away.

He doesn't pout. He really doesn't. But he maybe does curse Cas' stupid ethics. Or morals... or whatever it is that makes Cas ignore naked, hot skin that's kinda-sorta theirs and do the right thing.

"I doubt he'd be that crass, Dean," Castiel says, turning his back on the very tempting Dean and going towards their closet. He figures any of their clothes will adequately cover their smaller bodies, so he grabs the first thing he sees. He slides his arms into his shirt, primly buttoning it before finally turning around again to look at Dean.

Dean's pretty sure he's drooling. Girl-Cas in a too-big, white button up shirt is just all kinds of hot. A warm feeling spreads through his body, tingling and settling low, causing an oddly pleasurably achy-throb between his legs. Huh. He almost misses catching the shirt being thrown at him, he's so wrapped up in marveling at the awesome-but-still-kinda-weird feeling of his heated lady-parts.

He ignores the shirt for a moment and presses his thighs together, wiggling and rolling his hips just a little. Pleasure practically shoots through his body, slipping and sliding around in a warm, little wave. It's different than what he's used to, but still feels really good.

"Dean."

Dean blinks, realizing he's standing there, wiggling around and probably looking like he's gotta pee. He pulls his shirt on, unable to help giggling again when it drops alluringly to mid-thigh. "Jesus, it's like some cheesy ass chick flick," he mutters.

He watches Cas slip a pair of plain boxers on, but he goes for the panties in the back of his drawer, pawing through until he finds the violet pair with the little bows at the hips. He wiggles his hips a little more than he usually would when he realizes Cas is watching, winking when Cas just frowns at him.

They ease out of their room, neither of them willing to admit they might be sneaking... A little. Wary, just in case. They head to the kitchen, both of them pausing in the doorway and staring at a very tall, very good-looking, very annoyed looking woman sipping coffee through a fierce bitch-face that looks on the verge of becoming permanent.

Dean realizes who it is and he can't help it, he breaks out laughing. He points a finger, tears streaming down his face. He nudges Cas and manages to get a "Sammy, too!" out between laughs and snorts. Cas ignores him and gives Sam a commiserating look.

"Ha ha," Sam mutters in an unamused deadpan, moodily sipping at his coffee again. He does a double take, finally taking in the fact that he's not the only one temporarily in the wrong sex. He can feel his face heat up and averts his eyes.

Dean gets control of himself and his eyes narrow, immediately spotting Sam's guilty face. "What did you do?" he asks, stepping into the kitchen and crowding Sam. Even as a girl, Sam's freakishly tall. Dean adamantly keeps his eyes on Sam's, refusing for even a moment to contemplate the unfairness that is Sam's huge rack.

Seriously. Unfair. But first things first, bigger priorities here.

" _I_ didn't do anything," Sam says firmly, looking somewhere over Dean's shoulder. He sees Cas shuffle closer, looking between them in that wary but patient way Cas has perfected in his time at the Bunker, witness to many Winchester Brother arguments, bitch-fests and verbal sparring matches so he doesn't interfere and only watches with that... Look. That look that's patient, loving and pissed off all at the same time but given to both of them so he doesn't look to be choosing sides.

Dean snorts and jabs Sam's shoulder. " _Some_ one did and I know it wasn't Cas."

" _Ow_! Asshole," Sam says, pushing at Dean's shoulder until he backs off. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have the mojo to even do something like this." He nearly winces, wishing he could un-say that last part when Dean's eyes narrow and his mouth thins out.

Dean nods and dips his head. "Gabriel," he says with a put-upon sigh. He waits, expecting the usual pop-in or maybe a dramatic light and smoke show when the archangel deigns to visit. Instead, there's only the sound of slippered feet shuffling towards the kitchen and a bed-headed, pajama'd Gabriel shuffles into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his ass through his thin pajama pants.

He gapes when Gabriel walks right past Cas and him, heads right for Sam and slaps him on the ass, yanking on the neck of Sam's T-shirt until they're level enough to kiss. He looks from Gabriel on his tip-toes to the gross squishing of lips and backs up until he bumps into Cas, sagging into him with relief when Cas is quick to wrap a supportive arm around his middle.

"Morning, gorgeous," Gabriel says with a wink when he lets Sam go for a breather. He looks over his shoulder and eyes Dean and Castiel, not even bothering to hide his amusement. They're kinda hot as girls. But both of them are glaring at him hard enough he's glad looks can't kill. Or maim.

Geez, some people have no sense of fun (or humor).

Gabriel offers an apologetic smile, hoping it's as sincere as he feels. "Sorry, Dean-o, musta' used too much juice." He pats Sam's hip when he hears a soft groan of embarrassment.

Sam's face feels ready to combust and he can't look at Dean or Cas because he knows what's coming. Gabe, damn him, continues on like Sam isn't grabbing at his shoulder and trying to broadcast 'Shut up! Shut up!' telepathically.

"I wanted to be the girl but Sam just wouldn't hear it," Gabriel continues blithely, unaware of Dean's grossed out expression and Sam's tortured groan and slumped body language that suggests he'd like to melt into the floor. Gabriel finishes stirring his hot chocolate with a flourish of the can of whipped cream and turns around, winking obnoxiously at Dean. "Likes Little Gabriel too much, I'd say."

Sam squeaks and hides his face in his hands. " _Gabriel_ ," he whispers with a mortified groan through his fingers.

"Yeah, TMI, man," Dean says with a grimace. "I get you guys do the tongue tango, but I do not need _or_ want details. Like, ever." He forces the information out of his brain, refusing to let any thoughts of his brother's (apparently wild) sex life settle in. He wiggles a finger around the room, glaring at Gabriel, "Change us back."

Gabriel sighs and sets his mug down, truly contrite. "Sorry, no can do, Deanarino. One of those 'gotta wait for the expiration date' sort of deals."

Dean grits his teeth. "How long."

"Maybe another few hours?" Gabriel guesses, shrugging and going back to licking the whipped cream from around the rim of his mug.

Dean shares a look with Cas but he only looks pissed off, nowhere near considering using those hours for some sexy fun. He sighs and resigns himself to waiting this out by spending the next few hours watching TV like they usually do on lazy day off (and angel cursed into a girl means a day off, for sure).

He watches Cas leave with a muttered 'need pants for this insanity' and follows him after a moment of hesitation. He nearly laughs when he can hear Sam yelling at Gabriel in a whisper and picks up the pace when the whisper-yelling turns into the undeniable sounds of kissing.

And he's definitely not pouting when he gets to their room and Cas is fully dressed. He follows Cas' lead and digs through for a pair of pants with a drawstring, pulling them tight enough they won't fall off his girly ass.

Cas is unimpressed by his whining (which, no, he doesn't whine thankyouverymuch) about how Sam gets to have fun while they cuddle and watch TV. Though, he's gotta say, it's not so bad to prop his head up on Cas' softer parts for the next few hours as they binge-watch the A-Team.


	21. coral (rated K)

_Today's color:_  
Coral  
cor·al (/ˈkôrəl)

a reddish or pinkish shade of orange.

 _Season 12 spoilers because I'm still just a little stuck on that moment... Little bit of Mary & Cas time because I think they're gonna be good in-laws lol_

 _This chapter is rated **K+**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean knocked lightly on Cas' door and peeked into the room, ready to say goodnight.

But his mom was in there.

The usually bare room had some personality to it now; a Tiffany style lamp on the desk, a coral bedspread smoothed neatly over the twin mattress, clothes hanging in the closet.

It was nice, his mom settling in and all, but the absence of Cas had his chest feeling tight, his stomach heavy. He'd barely managed a smile when his mom looked up at him curiously.

He said a quiet 'goodnight' before heading to his room, steps and heart heavy. Why would Cas give up his room? Was he just gonna leave? Why didn't he say anything, dammit? Did Cas assume he wasn't wanted now that his mom was here? He'd thought Cas knew better, that their moment earlier—

That Cas knew by now how much Dean needed him. Wanted him.

He nearly walked into Cas when he opened his bedroom door. He frowned with confusion; why was Cas in his room? Cas' trenchcoat and suit jacket were tossed over his chair, black shoes tucked neatly under.

Dean's pulse thudded in his ears when Cas smiled, shy and tentative, and stepped closer. He couldn't help staring. Looking down at Cas' socked feet, gaze roaming up to see white sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up. It'd been too long since he'd seen Cas make himself comfortable here and it eased that heavy feeling. He met Cas' eyes again for a long, quiet moment they just looked at each other.

"Why did you give my mom your room?" Dean asked, trying to calm his heart rate. It didn't mean what he thought, it couldn't. Cas was just here to say goodnight before he fucked off again. The promise to 'speak later' after they'd nearly kissed could've meant anything. His mom nearly walking in on them had been the first time since she'd come back that Dean wished she hadn't. The guilt was quick to follow and he'd had to walk away, feeling Cas' gaze on his retreating back the entire time. He'd needed some time alone to think.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, gaze intent on Dean. Dean looked wary, but there was a bright spark of hope, too. A hope that lit in his own chest; hope that he hadn't made a mistake, that he hadn't overstepped. He didn't have much to settle into Dean's space, a way to make it their space. Theirs—something he wanted since he'd been welcomed at the Bunker but didn't know how to ask for. The moment he saw Dean alive, he knew waiting wasn't something he could do any longer. Not since he'd barely restrained himself from kissing Dean and went for a tight hug instead, disbelieving and unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.

He'd made up his mind when Mary hadn't asked where he was staying, her eyes darting to Dean's room without comment. Her smile had been small but warm, her hand gentle and tentative when she gave his arm a squeeze before she went into her room for the evening. He'd shown her to his usual room since it was close to Dean's; he knew dean would want to keep her close for a while yet. He managed to help her find a few things to make the room a little more homey, content when she'd looked around the room with something akin to satisfaction. He knew she was still adjusting—coming to terms with everything that had changed since she'd been alive—so he didn't want to overwhelm her and bid her goodnight before quietly slipping out.

He'd placed his few belongings in Dean's room and waited for Dean to come back. He hoped it was enough to get his message across.

Dean was still staring at him, his expression carefully blank now. He stepped closer and placed his palm on Dean's chest, smiling a little when Dean leaned into the touch without hesitation. He knew if they hadn't been interrupted Dean wouldn't have stopped the kiss. He nearly leaned in for another.

"I hoped I could stay here," Castiel said. Dean's shaky smile made the effort worthwhile, even if he was still anxious for the reaction. Dean wasn't saying no or pushing him away.

Dean needed a long moment to settle himself, overwhelmed for a moment. He cleared his throat, trying to get control of himself and get some words past the sudden lump in his throat. Cas was patient as ever but he could see the hesitance in the way he squinted a little, leaning a little closer to get a better read on things. He didn't want to mess this up, not now that Cas had reached out and taken the first step.

"Sure, Cas. But I get the left side of the bed." Cas' smile was a huge, gummy, eye crinkling thing that did all sorts of embarrassing things to his insides. Still. Dean hoped he'd see more of it.

Castiel nodded his acquiescence, affecting a somber expression on his face. He didn't need sleep but he'd still gladly take the offer.

"Of course, Dean."


	22. dandelion (rated K - ABO AUmpreg)

_Today's word:_  
Dandelion  
dan·de·li·on (/ˈdandlˌīən/)  
a bright yellow color, like that of the flower

 _Yellow reminds me of babies, I don't know why, so this is gonna be a Domestic Destiel. ABO/Mpreg, so heads up if that's not your thing._

 _This chapter is rated **K+**. This chapter is an A/B/O AU and contains mpreg (male pregnancy)._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Castiel set the paintbrush on the empty paint tray. He wiped his hands as he stood, looking around the room. It was finally finished and looked lovely. Nearly perfect. The only thing missing was their daughter.

He turned when Dean shuffled in, gait ungainly but steady, slower than he knew Dean liked. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his paint splattered overalls so he wouldn't help, wouldn't wrap a hand around Dean's elbow or lean close so Dean could use him to steady himself. He didn't like to see Dean struggle, even if it was only temporary; it just went against his Alpha nature. However, Dean rarely appreciated his offer of assistance and usually answered with a glare. But he watched closely as his husband huffed and puffed into the room, ready should he need to be.

Dean looked around the room, hand rubbing his belly out of habit. The room smelled faintly of him and Cas with a hint of paint (even though Cas went the extra mile and picked out the fume-free stuff). The furniture was all assembled and arranged, Cas moving it around without complaint until Dean was satisfied. The walls were finally done and the mural was beautiful; the big trees in the corners, bright green leaves stretching out along the top of the wall and ceiling, the bright orange and pink and lilac of the flowers, the dandelion yellow and sky blue walls that managed to make the small room look warm and open.

Cas outdid himself. It was perfect.

He gave Cas a bright smile and leaned closer, pressing into Cas' side when an arm wrapped around his waist, Cas' large hand pressing warmly against his belly.

Dean smiled at the attention to detail. The blades of grass, the happy, fuzzy little bees Cas painted around the flowers. The trees looked so real he nearly reached out to touch the rough bark.

"Less than a month and we'll be parents," he murmured, cupping his belly with both hands and absently rubbing along the bottom. Kid was heavy and he already needed to sit down.

Luckily, Cas had assembled the glider chair Charlie bought them last week. It was covered in matching dandelion gingham fabric and, even if he'd never admit it, it was precious. And comfortable. He practically fell into it with a soft, relieved huff. Cas nudged the ottoman closer and he propped his feet up, giving Cas a grateful smile. That was quick to turn flirty. Because Cas looked good, smelled even better, and he was a sucker for Cas' doting (even when it annoyed the shit out of him).

Castiel squatted next to the chair and gently slid a hand over Dean's rounded belly. Dean relaxed into the soft cushions with a happy sigh, fingers brushing lightly. He smiled when there was a nudge of a tiny foot against his palm.

A month seemed interminable. Too long and not long enough at the same time. They'd been mated and ready for years. He knew Dean had almost given up hope, his last few Heats holding a sense of tense anticipation to it that Castiel tried to sooth or ignore as best he could. Every visit to see their nieces and nephew were bittersweet—until that day Dean's scent changed. Sam's daughter Hannah noticed first, her curious hazel eyes wide and happy when she'd told Dean he smelled like mommy before Luke was in her belly.

Dean had burst into tears, getting everyone's attention. Castiel was steps away, the embarrassed flush and tears on Dean's face hard to ignore, but Eileen had stepped in first. By the time Sam was at his elbow, scent sharp with concern as he watched, Castiel had already figured out the reason behind the commotion and was stunned immobile by joyous surprise.

Of course, Dean still says he wasn't a blubbering mess and had to practically carry a stunned Castiel to the car. It was a half-truth, at best, and Dean brightened up every time he told it so he didn't argue.

And now, they were finally here.

Castiel rested his cheek on Dean's belly, looking up at his Omega with a warm smile. Dean was looking at the mural, head resting back on the pillow, and looked completely at peace. Happy. Content. Everything Castiel wanted for his Dean. He didn't know how long he was staring, enjoying the sight of his contented mate, before Dean turned his head against the padded headrest to look at him, eyebrow raised in silent question, eyes warm with affection and amusement.

He knew Dean wasn't always comfortable with his staring, even though his protests were half-hearted at best, but he really couldn't help himself sometimes. Surrounded by Dean's bright scent and warm under his cheek, their pack soon to grow was all he needed. Dean was used to his sentimental moments and the eyebrow dropped as his Omega smiled, running a hand through his hair with an amused eye roll. He knew Dean was pleased, touched even if he didn't say so.

"You've got about another ten minutes, you sappy ass Alpha, before you're taking me out for celebratory pie."

Castiel just hummed his agreement, rolling his head enough to place a kiss on Dean's belly. He chuckled when Dean sucked his teeth but his scent was thick and bright with happiness so he knew it was appreciated. Even if he was a sappy ass Alpha.


	23. jade (rated M)

_Today's word:_  
Jade  
jade (/jād/)  
a rich, bluish green to yellowish green

 _So, this one was inspired by a few things... The daily color, Sex Toy Saturday and Switch Sunday. It just felt time for some good ol' smut. lol_

 _This chapter is rated **M** for sexual content. (Let's just call this is a PWP, okay? ;))  
_

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Like most things with him and Cas, the idea of switching up their sex life was ... a slow process. It took them long enough to even get there.

He still had some reservations about his dying heterosexuality... Yeah, he banged a guy on the regular but it wasn't totally gay since he didn't do the butt stuff. He felt like a dick sometimes but Cas never complained or judged— just went along with whatever felt good and Dean was comfortable with. Cas always seemed to enjoy himself, never got pissy or argued, but Dean still felt like he wasn't quite up to par. Sharing the, uh, load or whatever.

The longer they kept at it, the more the ideas started. Thoughts and... thinking. About stuff. Wondering just how selfish he was being and what he was missing out on. And once the idea got in there, Dean had a bitch of a time shaking it loose.

It couldn't be that bad getting fucked, right? Cas sure as hell seemed to like it.

Sometimes, neither of them even had to touch Cas' dick to make him practically howl and come all over himself. He was starting to feel a little left out, if he was being honest. It was completely stupid considering he only had himself to blame, but there it was.

The idea had more and more appeal the more him and Cas explored each other, figuring out their thing in this new way. He eventually stopped thinking of it as 'gay' since, well—Cas wasn't a guy. Not really. He knew it didn't really matter, and Sam had made it clear even if he was gay (even though Sammy kept saying 'bi' like it meant something), it wasn't a big deal. Not really. Not to the people that cared about him and what put a smile on his face.

And Cas did put a smile on his face, dude or not.

He started small, hinting that Cas could work a finger up there—if he wanted—the next time he felt like blowing him. Of course, Cas was quick to follow through and Dean was pretty sure he actually saw stars when he came down Cas throat. The vibrations from Cas moaning through his own orgasm, that slender, long finger pressed up his ass just right... So awesome (and naturally kicked his curiosity into high gear).

After that, he felt adventurous to try more fingers. Deliberately. He thought Cas was going to vibrate off the damn bed he was so excited. It had been weird at first, a different sensation than he was used to but got used to faster than he'd thought. It hadn't hurt like he'd thought, either; it felt so much better than he'd ever expected. Cas had merely huffed a laugh when he'd said as much and added another finger. By the time Cas was sliding three in and out, Dean was enjoying the full feeling, canting his hips into each push and pull of Cas' hand, and moaning into his pillow wondering what the fuck he'd been so stupid for.

Gay or not, butt stuff was awesome. Cas inside him, massaging and pressing against his prostate was the best thing ever.

His toes were probably still curled...

Next time, Cas just had to mention it and Dean was naked, rolling onto his belly and tucking his knees up nearly to his armpits to give Cas lots of room. Cas took his time undressing, easing onto the bed and amping up the anticipation. He was practically trembling when Cas finally crawled over, climbing on top of him, pressing in close with his broad chest to his back. Cas turned his head with gentle fingers on his cheek and kissed him, soft and sweet enough Dean's lingering nerves drifted away.

He nodded eagerly when Cas murmured about trying something new.

Dean was on board. He was OK with anything Cas could come up with once he realized Cas knew a thing or two about the human body and sex. (Cas admitted it was all practical knowledge before but Dean didn't care because it was so so good and a heady thrill to discover things together.)

He figured Cas was just going to add to the stretch; more fingers, maybe a toy. (He'd found the thin jade vibrater Cas bought awhile ago and couldn't help wondering what it would feel like.) He meant to bring it up but Cas' hands were on his back, strong hands kneading his shoulders and palms rasping down along his spine, easing the last of the tension in his body. Dean groaned, sinking into the mattress. He stifled a moan as Cas slid down his body, kissing his way down until he was settled between his spread legs.

He was expecting Cas' hands on his cheeks, hips moving into the touch eagerly, and it went as before— until he felt Cas' breath on the small of his back, warm and damp and sending a shiver up his spine, body shuddering with pleasure under Cas' hands. The unexpected sensation startled a moan out of him and he nearly bit through his pillow when Cas' soft lips land on the same spot, a hint of tongue teasing down the small of his back and down.

Cas must've felt encouraged when Dean moaned instead of pushing him away or saying no. Even if he could make words, Dean didn't think he'd say no, not when the scrape of Cas' stubble along the backs and sensitive insides of his thigh was the hottest thing he'd experienced in years. Sparks of pleasure shot through his body from the wet kisses Cas peppered on his upper thighs and cheeks, tongue dipping teasingly between.

He never would have asked for this, never would have expected it, but he had to admit it wasn't as off putting as he might've thought... not that he ever thought about it. Much. He moaned again at the wet, broad stroke of Cas' tongue and arched back into Cas' face for more.

Cas' hands slid up and over the small of his back and settled on his hips, thumbs stroking down between his cheeks and pulling. His face burned when he realized what he must look like, spread out like this, but Cas groaned with approval, low and gravely with arousal. Dean hid his hot face in his pillow, but still tried to rub his leaking dick into the sheets at the sound, practically hard-wired now to be turned on by that sound. Cas was leaning in again, hot breath fanning across the spit-wet skin, and Dean gave zero shits. He moaned into the pillow, fingers digging into the muscled fold of his hips, and he rolled his hips back into Cas' tongue. Cas' grip was tight, fingers digging into the meat of his hips as he made the most erotic wet noises, the sound muffled as Cas buried his face between his cheeks again.

He went practically boneless, Cas' hands holding him up, keeping him still as he bucked and moaned with each stroke of Cas' tongue. He wasn't usually this loud and he could feel every time Cas hummed with satisfaction, body shaking every time Cas pointed his tongue and pressed in. He cursed, face rolling to the side to pant and moan when one of Cas' hands let go of his hip to slide down to tease down his perineum, wrapping around his dick to slowly stroke. His entire body bucked back when Cas started jacking him, hand wet and slick with precome and spit.

Dean had a moment to regret not being able to touch Cas, body coiled and tense with what was promising to be a hell of an orgasm, when he heard the bed creaking as Cas rocked into it. The muffled guttural moan vibrating against his sensitive skin that meant Cas was close to coming, the wet sound of Cas jerking himself off and he was done, coming over Cas' fingers, clenching around Cas' tongue. Cas' forehead was pressed to his hip and he heard the stuttered breathing of Cas coming, teeth grazing his goosebumped skin as Cas shook and panted through it.

He slowly relaxed, eyes closed as he tried to get his breathing in order. He felt Cas easing his legs out from under his body and gently straightening them out, hands rubbing down his legs. He groaned with relief, wiggling them a little to get the feeling back. He felt completely useless when he just flopped onto his back and Cas wiped him down, hands gentle, kisses soft across his cheeks and chin as he did. Usually he was the one doing the cleanup but he figured it was OK to let Cas do it this time since he'd pretty much fucked Dean stupid.

"Holy shit," Dean said softly, giving a breathless laugh. Cas hummed his agreement and he could hear the smug smile. Which—fair enough, Cas had every reason to be smug. Cas flopped down next to him. He yawned widely and went with it, rolling into Cas when he pulled Dean closer.

He managed to get the covers up over them, tucking himself against Cas' chest with a satisfied sigh and another yawn. Cas nosed at his hairline, lips pressed against the back of his neck before Cas settled behind him and dropped off to sleep moments later. Dean snuggled in, hands resting over Cas' on his belly.

They were definitely doing that again.


	24. tan (rated K)

_Today's word:_  
Tan  
tan (/tan/)

a pale tone of yellowish-brown color.

 _I went the obvious with this one—Cas' trenchcoat. A drabble that is loosely focused on 7.17 'The Born-Again Identity'. It's from Sam's POV because why not._

 _This chapter is rated **K**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Sam's stomach sinks when he sees the tan fabric floating on the water. Dean stares at it. Sam can see Dean fighting for composure, his hitched breathing and blinking hard.

He turns a little when Dean wades into the brackish water, giving his brother some privacy as he pulls the sodden trenchcoat from the water.

Sam knows Dean transfers it from car to car. The dirty tan fabric folded neatly, carefully placed in every trunk. Far back. He sees it but he's careful not to mention it. He knows Dean isn't ready to talk about it.

If he'll ever be.


	25. indigo (rated T)

_Today's color:_  
Indigo  
in·di·go (/ˈindəˌɡō/)  
a deep midnight blue, a combination of deep blue and violet

 _So. There's a pic of Misha wearing a plaid flannel shirt (from an episode of_ Ringer _) and of course, SPN got a hold of it and gif'd it (yanno, as we do). 'Hunters wear plaid'. And since the plaid is a nice dark blue with red, it fit today's word and I was inspired._

 _This chapter is rated **T** for some mild coarse language and suggestive language._

 _Enjoy. :)_

* * *

Sam and Castiel leave the Bunker early, right after showers and a light breakfast after their morning jog. Castiel insists on leaving a note, even though Sam is 90% sure Dean will still be asleep when they get back. His brother sleeps in whenever possible these days, something he's relieved about even if he'll tease Dean on occasion. This is an 'off' day, so it's likely Dean was up late doing... whatever and won't be shuffling around in his robe (usually untied because his brother is a heathen) and slippers for coffee until at least noon.

Still. Sam waits patiently and doesn't say anything as Cas carefully pens a brief note on a Post-it and dutifully sticks it to Dean's door.

And then another, which is stuck on the coffee maker—just in case Dean misses the neon pink one on his bedroom door in his half asleep zombie-like shuffle out of his room.

Castiel tosses Sam the keys for his Continental since he doesn't know where they're going. It's a little odd sliding into the front passenger seat, but he doesn't mind; he's not nearly as obsessive about driving as Dean and Sam seems to enjoy the opportunity to be behind the wheel. Sam turns on the radio once they're on the road and Castiel bobs his head to the catchy music, Sam's fingers drumming the wheel to the beat as they both sing the parts of songs they know. They chat a little, but mostly they just enjoy the companionable silence and music as they drive.

Castiel recognizes the store as they turn into the parking lot. He's pleased Sam took his budget concerns to heart and had let his insistence of malls and department stores go. Besides, as far as he's concerned if Walmart is good enough for the Winchesters, he certainly can't complain. Sam parks with ease, finding a spot near the back row out of habit.

They nod to the gentleman at the door and head directly to the men's clothing section after a brief glance up at the signs hanging from the ceiling. It has an air of ceremony to it as Sam goes right to a very colorful rack, various shades and styles of long sleeved plaid shirts hanging from it.

Castiel heads to the pants, moving hangers around and puzzling over his size. He's fairly confident of his size, but since he's had a bit more time as a human, he's added a little weight to his vessel—his body. He'd like to believe Dean when he'd claimed it was mostly muscle, but he has his doubts. He looks up from the rack of dull, pleated khakis when Sam approaches, arms piled with denim and plaid.

"Is it really necessary that I wear plaid now?" he asks, taking the clothing. He feels the cotton, slightly stiff with newness but soft enough. A few washings and they might be as soft as Dean's.

He doesn't have any actual protests about the clothing, it's acceptable on many levels, but he's still trying to find his footing with both Winchesters. Being accepted in this way—it feels too good to refuse, to question, but he can't seem to help himself. It makes him feel warm and wanted to be welcomed so, he doesn't want to overstep.

Plus, he has no complaints about wearing Dean's clothing. He enjoys it but he hadn't been able to offer any real protests when Sam had insisted on his own wardrobe. He knows both Winchesters well enough he knew better than to mention his enjoyment of being in Dean's clothes, surrounded by the subtle scent of Dean regardless of how many times he'd washed and worn the clothes.

Sam nods. "Yeah, Cas, of course. You're a hunter now, we all wear plaid," he says with a grin. He claps Cas on the back and points him towards the fitting rooms. "I got a few different sizes, so try 'em all, okay?" He thinks he got the right sizes but Cas is smaller than him and Dean—just enough—that him wearing their old stuff isn't quite right.

Cas needs his own clothes.

Besides, he can do without the weird, pervy faces Dean makes at Cas in his flannels or old jeans when he thinks no one is looking. He's seen his brother mentally undressing poor Cas one too many times for his appetite and mental well-being. They still have to share a damn room on occasion.

Cas disappears into a fitting room, with a promise to let him know if he needs more sizes (or colors, whatever), he wanders off towards the Shoes section. He piles a few boxes in his arms, mostly boots but a few sneakers just in case Cas prefers them, and waits outside the fitting rooms.

He feels a bit like a creeper when the attendant stares at him, eyes slightly narrowed and wary. He cocks his head towards the door, "Waiting for my friend."

"Oh," she says, sitting up a little and her eyes open back to normal before going a little bit wider.

Sam looks away and rolls his eyes when the girl's eyes flick between him and the door, obviously coming to some conclusions. Some very _wrong_ conclusions, judging by the smile she gives him a moment later. He'd complain but it's not like he isn't used to it. At least it's not the pervy 'two guys together are so hot' face some make about him and his brother.

And it's only compounded when Cas stumbles out of the fitting room, shirt unbuttoned and pants dragging on the floor. The attendant makes something akin to heart eyes as she looks between them again, chin resting on her palm. He's surprised she doesn't throw in a goofy little sigh.

"Sam, these aren't the right size."

Sam huffs a laugh, smothering the sound with his hand when Cas gives him a kicked puppy look. "Yeah, no, I can see that. Uh, are those the smallest ones?" he asks, eyeing the clothes. He's tempted to go over and check the tags, but he's not a soccer mom and Cas isn't a four-year-old. He waits as Cas pats himself down and then looks behind him to the scattered piles of clothes.

"Yes," Castiel says, adjusting the denim waistband.

Sam nods. "Right. Okay, sorry, man. I guess I, uh, wasn't paying attention when I was grabbing." He gathers the extra clothes (yep, all of 'em are the bigger sizes he'd grabbed) and pats Cas' shoulder. "Sit tight, man. I'll get some smaller ones." He checks the puddle of denim at Cas' feet and figures he'd overestimated length by about three inches, too. Oops.

They get Cas' size sorted out and head back to the bunker with about a month's worth of clothes. (As well as some socks and underwear when Sam stressed Cas needed his own of those as well. He'd left Cas in the underwear aisle on his own, leaving him alone to sort out if he wanted boxers or briefs. Some decisions a man made for himself.)

×Π×Π×

Castiel is pleasantly surprised to see Dean at the table, awake and fully dressed. And researching, apparently. He wonders if Dean found a new case.

"Hello, Dean," he greets, settling back against the credenza, tilting his head a little to see what Dean is reading.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, turning a page. He looks up properly and nearly chokes. He saw the note, so he knew Cas was going to be getting some new clothes but he didn't expect Cas in jeans and an indigo flannel. He stares, gaze following the long line of Cas' legs in denim and body in indigo and red striped flannel as he takes Cas in.

Son of a bitch, he looks good in blue.

Castiel fidgets, discomforted by Dean's silent perusal. He's waiting for Dean to say something. Anything. The silence isn't like Dean and he's growing concerned.

Apparently, so is Sam. Castiel jumps, startled from his staring at a silent, staring Dean, when Sam clears his throat. Loudly. Loud enough Castiel almost offers him a lozenge.

"Dean."

Dean jumps like he's been prodded and he glares when Sam snickers. "What?" he snaps, annoyed he's been interrupted.

And, shit. Caught out, judging by Sam's stupid smirking face.

"Do you like Cas' new gear?" Sam asks, pinching the webbing of his hand between his fingers so he won't break down giggling. "He picked it himself," he offers, biting the inside of his cheek as well to keep the giggles in check when Dean blatantly ogles Cas again, eyes half-lidded and moving slow and lazy.

Gross but cute.

"Yeah," Dean finally coughs out, remembering Sam said... something. He's staring at Cas again, wondering when hairy forearms got him excited.

Well, it's Cas and there isn't much about the guy that doesn't excite him.

He glances up when Sam leaves the room, snickering like a jerk but taking Cas' shopping bags as he goes. Cas is looking at him and he clears his throat, looking for something to say.

"Lookin' good, buddy." He nearly face-palms. Smooth Winchester. But Cas smiles, looking down at himself and he uses the moment to look too. Again. Because why not.

Castiel smooths a hand down his shirt, feeling oddly conscious of Dean's gaze. The shirt and jeans are comfortable and fit better but it'll take some getting used to. He looks up when Dean stands, a furrow pinching his brow when he takes in Dean's expression.

He feels himself flush at the open look of admiration and affection there. Dean is suddenly in his personal space, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. He holds his breath, hope blooming bright that he's interpreting Dean's look and body language correctly.

He leans in when Dean reaches out, tentative but determined, a broad palm resting warm and heavy on his waist.

.

Sam wanders back into the room, most of his attention on the book he has open in his hands. After dumping Cas' new clothes in the wash, he figured he'd help Dean with the research he was doing earlier before he was distracted. From the corner of his eye he sees movement.

He has a bad feeling about this.

He's wary, book lowered so he's paying full attention. He doesn't really expect a threat, but he'd be stupid not to. Not with how their lives went.

He makes an embarrassing screech when he sees Dean and Cas. It's little comfort they aren't completely naked, but there is still skin. Too much skin.

And movement.

Cas is snugged up between Dean's spread thighs, his face jammed in Dean's neck and making all sorts of wet moaning noises as his hips make very obvious movement.

Sam stumbles back two steps and covers his eyes, damning his life and that he's ever clapped these two assholes on the back and said 'just go for it'. He realizes now they really should've worked out some house rules.

"What the fuck!"

He grimaces when the wet kissing noises and soft sounds of moans and hitched breathing don't stop. At all—the deviants.

" _Guys_ , c'mon," Sam says, whining a little, peeking through his fingers. He can see the back of Cas' head moving, hair all messy between Dean's fingers. "Not in here," he begs.

That finally gets Cas to stop and lean away. Sam nearly breaths a sigh of relief until he sees Dean's face. Ew. He's seen his brother with that look on his face before, but not outside of a motel room he can easily run away from.

He's grateful one of them have a sense of decency when Cas primly buttons his shirt up. Dean doesn't bother and he's stuck seeing his anti possession tattoo and hint of nipple, the hedonist jerk.

"Apologies, Sam," Castiel says sincerely. Dean's knees dig into his sides but he ignores it for now, giving Sam his attention. Sam does have a point. He hadn't planned on doing this here, but apparently it's difficult to ignore Dean when he's of a mind. He does regret it's happened here but not that it happened. Not after wanting for so long.

He slides his hands down Dean's sides to rest on the tops of his thighs. He lowers his voice, leaning in to tease the column of Dean's throat with soft kisses. He learned quickly it's something Dean really likes. He's already become addicted to hearing the soft moans and the way Dean's breath hitches when overwhelmed with pleasure. He's looking forward to finding all the spots that makes Dean flush and tremble and make those noises again.

"Perhaps we should relocate to your room," Castiel offers, gently cupping the side of Dean's neck, his thumb sliding along a stubbled jaw. He licks his lips, entranced by the lovely light pink of Dean's freckled cheeks.

He can't help wonder how much of Dean is covered in freckles. He remembers how many there were years ago when Dean's body was little else but sinew and muscle, stardust and the brilliance of his soul, but there's bound to be more and he'd like to compare.

Sam groans pathetically when Dean pouts— honest to Chuck pouts and gives Cas a coy look from under his lashes like some bodice ripper cover girl. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and prays for patience. Really, he's glad they got their heads outta their asses but he really didn't want front row seats for it.

Dean sighs and nods, sliding a hand over Cas' back. It's a good idea. He doesn't wanna deal with Sam's bitching, not now that they've finally gotten to this point. Cas' smile has him smiling back reflexively, fingers itching to burrow in Cas' hair again. Maybe dip down into the back of his jeans again, cop a feel of his awesome ass. It's new and awesome and he wants to do it again now that he can. But Sam is right there, bitchface in full effect and threatening to become permanent.

He hops off the table and grabs Cas by the belt loop, winking obnoxiously at a glaring Sam as he walks past and leads Cas to his room.

Dean calls "Call us when dinner's ready, Sammy!" over his shoulder and slams the door behind them without waiting for an answer. He's pleasantly surprised when Cas' hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back into the closed door.

He has about 2 seconds to care if Sam can hear them before Cas is all over him.


	26. magenta (rated K)

_Today's word:_  
Magenta  
ma·gen·ta (/məˈjentə/)  
a deep, purplish-red hue

 _Dadstiel fluff ahoy!_

 _This chapter is rated **K**. This chapter is an AU._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Castiel comes home to the sounds of excited shrieks and his husband's delighted laughter. He closes the front door behind him, dumping his laptop bag by the door and heads towards the noise.

Grace is sitting at her mini tea table wearing a plastic, bejeweled tiara (a prized possession from her favorite aunt Charlie) and her frilliest princess gown.

Dean is just as lovely in a magenta feather boa and Grace's plastic Elsa bangles looped around his ears. A tiny pink plastic cup is pinched between his index finger and thumb, pinkie held out primly.

Castiel smiles and joins them.


	27. crimson (rated T)

_Today's word:_  
Crimson  
Crim·son (/ˈkrimzən/)

a strong, red color, inclining to purple

 _Quite obvious where I went with this one..._

 _This chapter is rated **T**. There will be some canon-typical violence._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean whips his head around, demon knife held tightly in one hand as the other reaches out blindly in front of him. Damn witches cut the power the moment they tripped some sort of alarm sigil. It's pitch-black and he can't see a damn thing. He can hear the shuffle of feet and labored breathing but the room echoes just enough he can't pin-point where it's coming from. It could be in the same room or in the hallway.

Shit. All very not good.

He's tempted to just strike out blindly but the possibility of the noise being Sam or Cas is too much to risk.

He hopes it's Sam or Cas. Because if Dean can hear them, that means the witches and their pet werewolves can too. If it's not either of them, its too close for his peace of mind. His hand tightens on the knife's handle. This is why he hates splitting up. He fucking hates it and it always means bad shit happens.

He widens his eyes, hoping it'll help his night vision. He looks up when there's a muffled scream, the wet meaty thump of a knife stabbing into muscle followed by a heavy thud.

.

Of course he rounds the corner and runs into a werewolf. And of course the werewolf isn't at all surprised and he's narrowly avoiding being sliced in half by razor sharp claws. He ignores the hot flare of pain in his side and focuses on ganking the furry asshole snarling in his face, getting his silver knife out and in a furry chest just in time to avoid a neck-full of teeth.

He cocks an ear, listening. He doesn't hear anything and he slumps against the wall.

"Son of a bitch," he groans, pressing his hand to the wound. It's bleeding pretty bad and stings like a mother, but he increases the pressure. He looks up at the sudden sound of scuffling feet and sees Sam grappling with the other werewolf, the pair of them practically falling into the room in a tangle of flailing limbs. It's snarling and snapping at Sam, eyes practically glowing with rage.

He grimaces when Sam gets thrown into him, keeling over under Sam's weight and grunting with a fresh burst of pain. He tries to move, get to his feet to help, but his knees give out on him and he lands on his ass with a low pained groan.

Sam is quick to stir and reaches for his gun. Dean can feel a hysterical laugh trying to bubble out when Sam brushes his hair out of his eyes, looking annoyed and woozy. Next time, he's getting Sam a headband. Or a scrunchie.

He tries to put a hand out to steady his brother as Sam struggles to his feet. He sees the werewolf move just before Sam does, tries to warn his brother, but thankfully Sam's reflexes are quick enough he's ducking and swinging a fist out just in time to clip the werewolf's chin, ringing its bell just enough Sam has time to shoot it.

Dean slides down the wall again, using the moment of reprieve to relax. He pants through his clenched teeth, eyes darting around to make sure the coast is clear.

"Dean!"

Dean waves weakly when Sam rushes over, dropping to his knees and stuffing his gun away so he's got both hands free. He groans when Sam manhandles him upright, hands braced on his shoulders as he looks Dean over, eyes panic-wide when he sees the blood.

"Where's Cas?" Dean asks through gritted teeth. Sam's trying to pull his hand away and Dean swats him away. "'M fine. Where's Cas, dammit?"

Sam looks over his shoulder. "Last I saw him, he was taking out wolf thug number two." Now that Dean's brought it up, he realizes he hasn't seen Cas since. He feels a stab of worry and nearly calls out for him.

"Did you get Sabrina and her witchy friends?" Dean asks, struggling to sit upright.

Before Sam can answer, Cas stumbles into the room, leaning on the doorway for a moment to catch his breath. There's a cut on his forehead bleeding sluggishly into his eyebrow and he's limping but he looks OK otherwise. Sam doesn't miss the way Dean breathes out with relief, even if it makes him wince with pain, gaze firmly on Cas as he limps over. Looking Cas over for injuries even as he grimaces and holds his bleeding side.

Dean tries not to flinch when Cas' eyes narrow and he hurries over, mouth a flat line of pain and annoyance. But mostly annoyance. It's barely tempered by the panic and shit-scared look in his eyes and Dean feels terrible he's worrying Cas when he's hurt too.

"Dean!"

He groans when Cas is in his face, blue eyes dark with concern. Cas' hands hover for a moment, first two fingers extended for a split second before curling in against his palm and his hand fists tightly. He makes a soft sound and covers Cas' hand with his for a moment, feeling terrible Cas sometimes forgets he can't heal anymore. "'M fine," he says again, biting back another sound of pain when Cas starts patting him down.

"What happened? Are you badly hurt?" Castiel asks, hands touching and prodding. Dean groans softly when he presses his chest; probably a cracked or broken rib. He realizes Dean is holding himself. He side-eyes Sam but the younger Winchester just shrugs, expression pinched with concern and exasperation.

If Sam's worried, it's probably bad.

Dean swats Cas' hands away too. He needs to know if they've ganked all these assholes before he can let them all be distracted. He's probably not gonna die but they all might if they let themselves be snuck up on and used as a chew toy.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel says tersely. "Now stop being an assbutt and let me see."

Dean can't help laughing—then hisses when it hurts like a bitch. Cas uses the distraction to wrap a hand around his wrist and pull his hand away. He winces and drops his gaze when Cas glares at him. His hand is hot and sticky, dripping crimson on the faded floor. His shirt is soaked, too. He's lost more blood than he thought and he suddenly feels lightheaded.

"Sam."

Sam looks over at Cas when he hears the carefully calm tone. He looks to Dean and his mouth drops open.

"Shit, that looks pretty serious," he says, leaning in. Judging by the tear in Dean's shirt, it's deep enough for antibiotics and he'll need stitches. A lot of stitches; enough to bypass his attempts at first aid and means hospital. He can see Dean gearing up for an argument, even though he's pale and sweaty.

Sam turns to Cas, shamelessly using his influence on Dean to their advantage. "He's gotta go to the ER for this, man." He tries to ignore the pained look that crosses Cas' face, but lays a comforting hand on Cas' shoulder. He knows Cas doesn't always miss his mojo—but times like these, he can practically feel Cas' anguish that he can't heal with a touch any more.

"No freakin' way," Dean grumbles and tries to get his feet under him. He flops weakly, gritting his teeth. Sam reaches towards him again but goes for his pocket instead. It takes a moment for him to realize, hears the familiar jangle of his keys as Sam pockets them himself. "Hey!"

Cas is in his face again, his expression pissy and no nonsense. And Dean slumps with defeat. One or the other he could argue against, but not both of the little fuckers. He doesn't bother protesting when Cas makes to grab him again, hands strong but gentle as he gets a firm grip under his armpit. Sam flanks him and they manage to get him upright and on his feet. He sways a little, but Cas slides an arm around his waist and steadies him.

"We'll come back to clean up," Sam says absently, letting Cas take the brunt of Dean's weight when Dean leans against him without complaining. He figures Cas has Dean securely and hurries ahead to get the car.

And maybe to give them a moment alone. He's come to recognize when they need to have their post hunt talks, knows when Cas' fingers dig into Dean like that he should make himself scarce if he doesn't wanna see kissing or risk Dean being an emotionally constipated idiot because he's there to make him self-conscious instead of giving Cas the assurances he needs.

He gathers the dropped weapons on the way out, grimacing as he steps over a body. He hates witches; it's too close to killing humans to ever sit right with him. But when they use their dark magicks to hurt and kill people, he can't just let it happen.

Sam peeks over his shoulder to make sure Cas is doing OK and quickly turns around again, picking up his pace when he sees them in an... intimate moment. He doesn't know how Dean can think of sucking face at a time like this, but at least Cas looks less freaked out.

By the time he's pulling up in front of the abandoned house, Cas is half-dragging Dean down the steps. He hops out and helps them, stuffing Dean in the backseat. He grabs a spare towel from the trunk and hands it to Cas just as he climbs in next to Dean. Sam nearly rolls his eyes when Dean paws at Cas' side until he's got his head pillowed on Cas' lap. There's a brief wince as Cas presses the clean towel to his side, but Dean relaxes and looks deceptively smug when Cas starts running fingers through his hair.

"Ten minutes, Dean," he says once he's behind the wheel again and he steps on the gas.

Dean just grunts in answer, comfortable enough with Cas fussing over him, probably trying to distract him from the hot throb of pain that's starting to spread out to all over. Cas prods his ribs and he hisses, turning his face a little to stifle it in Cas' stomach.

They hit a bump and Cas' arms wrap around him as Sam mutters a 'Sorry' from the front. Dean can tell he's white-knuckling the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight. He wants to tell his maniac brother to slow the hell down, be careful so they don't wreck and he gets them all killed, but he'd be just as frantic if it were Sam or Cas back here bleeding so he keeps his mouth shut. Another bump jostles the towel Cas is holding and he groans softly, even though Cas makes a soft shushing sound and gently strokes his cheek.

By the time they're screeching to a stop at the ER entrance, he's groggy and everything is gray around the edges. He's vaguely aware of Cas and Sam practically carrying him from the car and bright lights he squints and turns away from, face in Cas' neck. He hears Cas yelling for help, tries to tell Cas to cool it, it's not that bad, and then it's all fuzzy and goes black.

.

Dean hates how bright hospitals are. How funky they smell, astringent and musty at the same time. How noisy they are, machines beeping and whirring, nurse shoes and cart wheels squeaking as they rush through the halls. He's still feeling fuzzy when he opens his eyes, but this time it's from some heavy duty painkillers perking through him.

Sam is passed out in the chair next to the bed, head tilted at a painful angle and resting on his shoulder. He snickers at the puddle of drool. Poor Sammy. He's been there so he doesn't feel too bad for laughing. Movement next to him has him looking the other way, eyes widening a little when he sees Cas squished onto the bed next to him, trenchcoat tossed over him like a blanket. He's close enough to feel the warm weight of him, but Cas managed to be far enough away he's not impeding the IV or other crap strapped to him.

He nudges Cas' shoulder, startling when Cas jerks awake with a gasp, eyes wide and flitting around rapidly. He can't help smiling when Cas finally looks at him and his eyes crinkle with relief and happiness even as he slides out of the bed and gets to his feet. There's a butterfly bandage over the cut above Cas' eyebrow, but otherwise he looks unharmed.

"Morning," Dean says, voice scratchy and throat dry. Cas fumbles for a plastic cup of water and he lets Cas tuck the straw in his mouth, expression serious and brooking no argument. He'd argue he can do it himself, but he's thirsty.

Castiel lowers the cup when Dean leans away, body relaxing into the pillows. He keeps quiet for a long moment, looking Dean over. There's heavy bruising on his face and down his side but his color is better now that he's had the wound cared for and a unit of blood to replace what he lost. He'd let Sam deal with the doctors, staying quiet or nodding when needed to corroborate, as Sam made up a story that wouldn't have cops here in the morning with questions.

Dean sits up a little, wincing at the pull of stitches. There's not much pain though, so he figures he got the good stuff. His chest is tender, too, but overall he's good enough to hit the road any time now. "You snuck in?"

Castiel exhales slowly, braces himself for Dean's reaction as he shakes his head. The nurses were stern and he'd had to think of something...

"I told them we're... um. Family." Dean nods, like that's obvious, and he slowly reaches out, cupping Dean's hand with his own, thumb gently stroking down Dean's ring finger. "I said we're married."

Dean blinks twice and looks down at their hands. OK, not what he was expecting but it's not entirely a lie. Makes sense when the nurses get strict about visitors. They're sorta together so it won't be weird to husband things up until they can skip out.

It explains the slumber party, anyway.

He's sitting in a hospital in his underwear hanging out of drafty pajamas, so probably not the time for a heart-to-heart, but he remembers how freaked out Cas had looked last night. He can't promise it won't happen again, but Sam had a point when he'd said that Dean needs to actually talk, make sure Cas knows some things since they can't really guess what'll happen from day to day.

Castiel leans in to help Dean when he starts to sit up. Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed, moving slow and careful enough Castiel doesn't step in to help. He winces in sympathy at the bruises on Dean's chest and side, touching the area around it lightly. Dean's hand wraps around his wrist and he looks up, ready to apologize.

Dean slides his hand up to Cas' upper arm and tugs him closer, tucking him into the space between his spread legs and sliding a foot behind the back of Cas' legs. He can hear the squeak of shoes and murmuring of nurses, beeps and humming from machines and the lights, but for now they're alone and he wants a kiss dammit. He purses his lips and puckers them comically, wiggling his eyebrows at Cas. Cas moves in willingly, a small little smile, eyes warm and soft as cups Dean's neck and he leans in for a kiss. He hums softly as he sinks into the warmth and affection Cas offers so easily, but he keeps it quick. As tempting as it is to get carried away, they still have to sneak out of this place.

Cas still looks tense and wary though and that's just not gonna work. He leans in and ruffles Cas' hair, smiling. "Good idea, Cas. Beats having to be married to Sammy," he says with a snicker, peeking over his shoulder. Sam's mostly awake now, running a hand through his messy hair and yawning.

"Ha ha," Sam deadpans, rubbing his eyes and glaring at Dean. Who's apparently feeling better, enough to be holding hands with Cas and practically snuggling on the tiny hospital bed. "Might wanna tone it down a little there, Dean. The nurse should be in here any minute."

Dean scoffs and flaps a hand at his killjoy brother. He's feeling good and didn't lose any body parts. Cas smiles at him and Dean pulls him closer. Fake-married to Cas works.

Castiel smiles and tries not to think the painkillers are playing a major role in Dean's mood. He carefully backs away from the bed (and a surprisingly handsy Dean) when there's a light, quick knock on the door just before it opens. He gives the nurse a small smile as he sits in the room's other seat. Castiel watches closely as he checks Dean's vitals and bandages, mentions a painkiller prescription for the cracked rib. The IV comes out (and Dean has a moment to be grateful he wasn't out long enough for a catheter). No major issues, Dean will be OK to leave by tomorrow. They all nod along, pleased Dean's injuries aren't serious.

The nurse leaves and Sam gets to his feet. Dean gives him a look and he's already heading out to the car for a change of clothes. Sneaking out of a hospital is easier if your ass isn't hanging out of a hospital gown.


	28. silver (rated T)

_Today's word:_  
Silver  
Sil·ver (silvər/)

a shiny gray-white color or appearance like that of silver.

 _It's a soulmate AU? I guess everyone has to do one at some point lol_

 _This chapter is rated **T** for language and sexually suggestive content. This chapter is an AU._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dean stares wide-eyed at the mark, completely still and hearing the white noise of his pulse pounding. He no longer hears the guy in the stall to the left unloading too many beers, the soft panting breaths and muffled moans in the other stall.

He feels a hand cupping his chin, the gentle pressure as the guy tries to lift his face, probably to find out why Dean's just staring at his dick instead of doing anything with it, but he's stunned immobile. Staring and trying to get his brain back on-line. _Because holy shit he has the same fucking mark_.

He can't believe it's there on some stranger's hip. Something he sees every damn day. (And maybe tries to ignore whenever he lowers his pants.) Something he could draw in his sleep, it's so familiar.

A silver wing, threaded with dark blue.

He'd given up looking. Most people do when they're nearing 40 and haven't found their match. He'd gotten pretty good at ignoring Sam's tsking and sad, pitying looks when he just went for the occasional one night stand with anyone that didn't have their other half and didn't have any qualms about having a few hours of fun with someone in the same boat. At first, it had been a fun way to go looking for that matching nark (and it's surprising how often asking 'hey, wanna show me your mark?' actually worked), then it just got to be how he connected with people.

Sam could make all the faces and noises he wanted, he'd found his soulmate a year into college. He'd been jealous for all of an hour until he saw how happy Sam was. And met Jess, a girl that couldn't have been more perfect for Sam if he'd made her in a damn computer. (Sometimes, he's still not convinced some Weird Science shit didn't happen...)

Of course, it makes sense this would happen. He doesn't often let himself be distracted by guys. It happens but not usually to this degree... Not to the point he actually does anything about it. But this time, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off the guy. The fourth time they'd made eye contact, the guy had walked over, nervously clutching his beer, a tentative smile on his face. Dean felt himself flush and fluster, nerves going haywire and nearly upsetting the table when he stood up to say hi. It was completely embarrassing and a reminder why he didn't flirt with guys. Stubble and a strong jaw turns him into a damn middle-schooler.

Then the guy got closer and Dean turned into a stuttering mess over warm blue eyes and a deep voice that he'd definitely pay $3.99 a minute to hear. Lucky for him, the guy was just as awkward but polite about his obvious nerves. Thankfully, another few beers and they'd both settled down, talking like normal people. Dean flirting like usual.

Within an hour, he'd been itching to touch, and he could tell the guy was too. He knew that heated look, even if it was coming from a guy this time. It didn't take much; a heated look (maybe a little over the top with the lip licking but effective), a bold touch to a hand and the guy was giving him the look right back and following him minutes later. He'd looked nervous but determined and Dean felt a quick make-out the moment they hit a shadowy corner helped smooth things over (and didn't hurt to see if the guy could kiss— which he could, once the initial awkward rush passed, he was backing Dean against the nearest sturdy, flat surface and deepened the kiss making Dean groan happily).

Dean jerks out of his reverie when a hand gently cups his cheek. He can't help leaning into the touch, eyes closing. He has a moment to feel like an asshole; what was supposed to be a quick get off with a hot guy has turned into... This. But there's a warm giddy feeling, too. A strange sense of right and finally that mostly overrides the lingering guilt.

He looks up and there's an odd look on the guy's face. And holy shit, _he doesn't even know his soulmate's name_. Dean knows he's a teacher, is a few years older, has weird taste in music (who actually likes _ABBA_ for fuck's sake?), has a large, nosy family and his whole face scrunches and his eyes light up when he smiles. Even if Dean had felt... something, names aren't usually part of the whole setup. He's pretty sure he would've asked for a number, if the guy was interested after.

"Sorry, man. I just— What's your name?" Dean asks after a long moment of staring. It's quiet in the stall so he hopes if the guy tells him to fuck off and get busy, or just changes his mind and leaves, no one will be there to hear it.

He fidgets and drops his hands, only now realizing he's still holding both flaps of the guy's jeans open, thumbs making mindless sweeping motions over his awesome hipbones. The erotic panting breaths of excitement have calmed and he's starting to think the guy won't answer when he clears his throat and looks away for a moment.

"Castiel."

Dean chuckles softly and drops his forehead to the guy's— _Castiel's_ hip. "Dean."

"Hello, Dean."

And Dean can't help it, he cracks up. It's such a surreal moment, it just bubbles out. A hand settles on the back of his head, the touch light and almost shy. It doesn't take long after that to get himself under control. "I'm sorry, I know I'm going off script here."

"I wouldn't know, but I apologize if my mark upset you in some way," Castiel says sincerely.

There hadn't been any hesitancy or awkward laughing the moment the stall door closed and they'd been pressed together, hands and mouths all over each other. He'd groaned when Dean pulled away to get on his knees. It'd been exciting, his vision tunneled down to the sight of Dean on his knees in front of him, looking up at him lasciviously. Green eyes practically sparkling and dark with arousal. But the moment Dean saw his mark, he'd tensed up.

He wonders if he's breaking some social convention Dean ascribes to to have sex outside a soulmate bond. He knows people do it all the time, it's not as taboo as it once was, but he's never had a reaction like this before. Dean hadn't seem opposed to a casual encounter before, but then again, he'd been attracted to the man the moment their eyes met. (And he knows Gabriel would be laughing at him right now, probably with good cause. His first attempt at this sort of thing in years and it's gone sideways before it even started. Not at all what he was expecting.) By the fourth time, he'd worked up his courage to approach Dean, feeling silly until Dean stammered and smiled back.

"Nah, it's fine," Dean mutters, turning his head to rest his cheek on warm denim. Castiel's hand slides down to cup his neck, a strong thumb resting behind the hollow of his ear and it's almost embarrassing how much he wants to just melt. Or go back to plan A.

Instead he gets to his feet, grimacing a little when Castiel gives him a wide-eyed look of resigned despair, eyes dropping to his chest. And as much as he would rather eat the urinal cake than talk about this, it's only fair. How many times has he said 'I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours' with a teasing smirk? Time to put his money where his mouth is. He can do this.

"Hold on," Dean mutters, unaccountably nervous as he pops the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper. He wants to preen when Castiel immediately looks down to watch, licking his bottom lip with a slow drag of a pink tongue and sneaking peeks at Dean through his lashes. Dean groans softly and nearly forgets what he'd been doing...

His hands are shaking a little when he opens his jeans, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his underwear to pull it down a little. He knows the moment Castiel sees his mark when there's a soft shakily indrawn breath. He leans in a little in silent invitation when Castiel reaches a hand out, slow and tentative. But the moment he leans in, Castiel goes for it and Dean exhales slowly as Castiel's fingertips trace the mark.

It's so warm, it feels like his skin tightens all over and his mark tingles a little.

"Um. Surprise?" Dean says with a nervous laugh. Castiel still hasn't said anything, eyes down and staring intently, fingers no longer touching. He hasn't been this nervous since... Well, a long time.

And suddenly he's seeing Sam's stern face in his mind's eye; forehead all wrinkled up and his mouth pinched, a sad little 'I told you so' as he shakes his head at Dean's boneheaded life choices. Maybe Castiel is having a serious moment of regret that this is how they met each other. He probably wouldn't blame the guy if he zipped up and left, disgusted with the sort of person he's stuck with as a soulmate.

But Castiel's expression is more contrite than disgusted or disappointed. It takes Dean a moment to realize Castiel is embarrassed.

"I didn't—" Castiel starts, shaking his head and looking at Dean for a moment. He didn't expect this. He didn't make a very good first impression... He's suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that _his soulmate is right in front of him_. Finally, after so many lonely years. He can't help the way he reacts.

Dean doesn't know what to do with the hitched breath, the red-rimmed eyes. But instinct has him moving closer, sliding an arm around Castiel's waist and one across his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Castiel isn't full-out crying, thankfully, but it sounds like he's struggling for some control and Dean feels bad for the guy. Practically crying in front of someone you just met with your pants hanging open.

He rubs his hands in soft circles as he mumbles soothing nonsense into Castiel's hair, perversely enjoying the moment of closeness. It doesn't take long for Castiel to relax, forehead pressed into his neck. He lets go when Castiel pushes away, as much as he doesn't really want to. He looks collected, but his eyes are focused on the wall over Dean's shoulder, looking embarrassed again.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says, wiping his damp palms down his jeans.

"Don't mention it, man," Dean says easily. Castiel still hasn't looked at him (probably the first time in the past hour and Dean kinda hates it) and gives his shoulder a brief pat, giving an encouraging smile when Castiel's eyes dart to him. "I was like ten seconds from full-on blubbering myself, so..." he says with a casual shrug, grinning when Castiel huffs a laugh.

Castiel chuckles softly, wiping a hand up his cheek and breathing out in a slow, shaky exhale. "I don't know what to do now," he admits, looking at Dean. Honestly, Dean looks as lost as he feels and oddly enough it sooths him. They're both floundering and maybe they can both find a way through this.

He slowly zips up and buttons his pants, feeling rather ridiculous with them open in the current situation. He looks away when Dean does the same, giving him a sense of privacy. He looks back when Dean leans heavily against the door with a rattling thump, running a hand over his face and scrubbing at his hair.

"Are you disappointed?" Castiel finally asks, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. He doesn't have to specify about what, not when Dean goes slightly wide-eyed, mouth parting a little. Surprise? Maybe disbelief? It's hard to tell, but he braces himself for any response.

Dean stares for a long moment and then scoffs. Is the guy serious? He feels like he hit some sort of soulmate jackpot, but he doubts Castiel is feeling the same. It's hard to get a read on the guy to know for sure, though. 10 minutes ago, he would've had a different answer...

"Are you?" he asks instead.

"I believe I asked you first," Castiel points out, head tilting a little as he studies Dean. It's a little vexing to get his question answered with a question. (But then again, he already knew Dean was a rather vexing man—in an oddly charming way, most of the time.)

Dean snickers at the narrowed eyes and pissy tone. Castiel is kind of adorable when he's irritated. He snickers again when he has the strong suspicion Castiel is going to be irritated frequently...

He holds his hands up and puts on a charming smile, going with honesty but still unable to look Castiel over appreciatively. "I'm definitely not." His smile grows into a grin when Castiel looks relieved, the corner of his mouth quirking up a little.

"I agree," Castiel says softly. He realizes they're staring at each other and the nerves come back. He doesn't know what they should do now. "Should we...?" he trails off, shrugging helplessly.

Dean moves away from the door and back into Castiel's personal space. "Well, we could always pick up where we left off," he offers, glancing down meaningfully before looking back up to meet Castiel's curious gaze with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. "Or," he says when Castiel's cheeks pink, looking interested but indecisive enough he figures it's not gonna happen. "We could, uh, get something to eat? Um. Talk. Or something?"

Because yeah, there's definitely some things to talk about. Castiel nods eagerly and they manage to get out of the stall with a minimum of banged elbows. He's figuring out where they should go when they hit the parking lot. He's about to ask Castiel if he's got a car, but he seems happy enough to follow Dean, eyeing Baby appreciatively as he unlocks the passenger side door.

He takes the trip around the driver's side to breath, try to shake the nerves out of his body with a flick of his wrists. He hears the lock pop up and sees Castiel sitting back up in the seat, eyeing him apprehensively through the window. Like he's going to turn around and run off or something.

"I think we need some real food for this," Dean says as he slides in behind the wheel and starts the car. Castiel nods his agreement and he heads for The Roadhouse. He pats the bulge of his cell phone and considers giving Sam a call. His brother should know he's found his soulmate, but he knows his brother and he knows an excited Sam turns into a-thousand-and-one-questions Sam. He should wait until he's got a few more answers about the guy because Sam will ask and he'll be damned if he can't answer the basic things.

Like a last name. He'll definitely ask about that at some point...

It's quiet in the car, the silence somewhere between uncomfortable and comfortable. He can tell Castiel is holding back and he side-eyes him, clearing his throat. "Something on your mind, man?"

"Yes," Castiel admits. "I know we need to, um. Discuss things, but I'd like you to know that I'm open to whatever sort of relationship you're comfortable with."

Dean blinks a few times, staring out the windshield. "What do you mean?" he asks, still not quite getting it. "We're soulmates—doesn't that sort of mean one sort of relationship?"

"Not necessarily," Castiel says slowly. He turns in his seat and sees true confusion on Dean's face. He wonders if Dean is a traditionalist or just unaware of other ways... "Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean we'll be compatible."

Dean scoffs and looks at Castiel briefly. "Uh, _yeah_ it does. That's kinda the whole point of the soulmate thing, Cas. I mean, why else would be meant for each other? Share a mark? Why else would I—" he cuts himself off, jaw clenching and hands tightening on the steering wheel. There's no way he's telling a veritable stranger that he's already a little in love with him. It's fucking crazy and so damn cliché he wants to punch himself.

And then Sam because he knows he's getting a smug 'I told you so' from his annoying little brother about this too.

"For instance," Castiel says carefully, curious about what else Dean was going to say. But he's learned enough about Dean in this short time not to push. "My brother and his soulmate aren't healthy for each other. At all. Sure, they love each other, but they've literally burned down a building and broke furniture fighting."

He's never met two people less suited to each other than Gabriel and Kali. He knows they care about each other, but they can't be in the same room together for a prolonged period of time civilly.

"Okay," Dean says slowly, thinking it over. He glances at Cas again. "But do you think that's how it's gonna be for us?" he asks, waving a hand between them. The worst he can see right now is some sexual tension that he doesn't think will go away anytime soon. Another glance at Cas and he has a feeling he's thinking the same thing, judging by the heated look in those blue eyes. And he knows that's not exactly a perfect relationship, but it's better than 95% of the 'relationships' he's had so far.

Castiel thinks a moment and shakes his head; he honestly doesn't. "My other brother doesn't know the meaning of fidelity," he continues. Balthazar is one of the few people with a soulmate that can't seem to remain faithful, going against a commonly held belief that infidelity is practically impossible once someone's found their soulmate.

He gets the impression that Anna isn't particularly bothered by Balthazar's wandering habits, but it still has given Castiel much to think about some nights when his thoughts invariably lead to his own soulmate. Dean didn't strike him as the sort to be easily lead astray, but he'd been admitted a little wary considering how they met.

"That's fucked up, Cas," Dean says, eyebrows drawn together and giving Cas a stern look. "I mean, it's not like I can wear white at our wedding, but I don't believe in fucking around if you're committed to someone. You're with somebody, you're with _them_ and that's it."

It's quiet for a long moment and Dean risks another look at Cas. And promptly turns his head back to watch the road when he sees Cas giving him a look, eyes soft and mouth in a little smile. Shit. He barely knows the guy and he's flustered again, feeling too warm and fluttery. Cas' hand rests lightly on his knee so he figures he's not the only one.

"Okay," Castiel says quietly, rubbing his thumb over the outside of Dean's knee. "I'm just pointing out there are options. We don't have to make any decisions right away."

Dean just hums in answer and briefly pats Cas' hand before focusing on driving again. "Good to know."

.

Of course, by their third date, Dean already knows where things are going. And so does Cas. And so does Sam, but Dean ignores him because he doesn't know _everything_.


	29. lilac (rated K)

_Today's word:_  
Lilac  
li·lac (līˌläk/)

a pale pinkish-violet color.

 _Just another short little domestic fluff thing... Mild spoilers for season 12, so beware. (And this was outlined before I got to watch 12.03, so we're just going to pretend all that didn't happen, OK? yes...)_

 _This chapter is rated **K+**._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

It's laundry day (yes, they have a laundry day, shut up Sam) and Dean sputters when his mom takes the basket from his hand, putting herself in the chores rotation. They've had the 'I'm not Suzy Homemaker' talk and he's accepted that about her no problem. (He might've been a little bummed that meant the perfect apple pie he remembers came from a bakery and he can't beg for a recipe, but whatever. He's over it.) He's trying to find the words to tell his mom that he's capable of doing his own laundry—for the past 25 years or so—and she doesn't have to do it.

But she's giving him _a look_. A look that has the words dying on his tongue, throat bobbing as he swallows and just nods, stepping away.

It's been so long since he's had a 'mom look' leveled at him, but it works just as well as it did 30 some years ago and the fight goes out of him and he just waves a hand in acquiescence.

There's pink, light blue and lilac in the laundry basket, making his face heat with the thought of sorting through it, so maybe it's for the best... But the reminder of why he doesn't hate laundry day is when Cas follows after his mom like an eager little duckling, another basket perched on his hip, looking comfortable with his socked feet and his sleeves rolled up. He has no idea why Cas digs the scent of fabric softener enough to volunteer to help with the laundry, but it's not terrible having company so he doesn't tell Cas to buzz off.

He watches Cas follow his mom, his low voice a murmur as they talk about... something. As much as he likes seeing them get along, he needs to get out of there for a bit. He snags the shopping list off the fridge and heads to the garage.

.:.

Dean tries not to stare, nearly drops the grocery bags to the floor when his arms go a little slack. Cas and his mom are folding laundry on the war table, like it's no big deal, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they work. They're quiet, but he has a feeling they've been talking again.

Cas has that look on his face, the one that says he's trying to figure something out but give his mom the quiet and time to sort through whatever they've been talking about. He can't help smiling at the pair of them, something warm settling in him.

He didn't really expect them to get along as well as they do, not after his mom pulled a gun on Cas (and Cas looking a twitch of a finger away from smiting her in her borrowed boots). But then Cas gave him that look when he'd understood that woman pointing a gun on him was his mom, so he should've expected it. He's pretty sure Cas is sticking even closer to her these days and he's absolutely not jealous. (And even if he was—which he isn't—he has no idea which of them would be the focus.)

He makes enough noise with the bags to get their attention and feels a little overwhelmed when they both look up and smile warmly at him. Cas is the first to look away this time, eyes crinkled with affection even as he goes back to sorting socks, giving him the moment with his mom.

It takes a lot more restraint than he expects to not drop the bags and stalk over there to kiss him.

But the kissing thing is still too new to just lay one on Cas with his mom right there. His mom, whom he hasn't told about the thing between them.

He sets the bags down on the table a safe distance away from clean laundry, leaning against the table's edge as he watches Cas pile the clothes into separate piles. He doesn't comment on their piles being a little too close together, no sense in bringing it up since his mom isn't giving them that weird look she's been doing since Cas went in for the dramatic hug.

Mary gives Dean's shoulder a soft rub in greeting and peeks in the shopping bags before grabbing a few and heading into the kitchen to help put them away. She glances over her shoulder to see Dean shuffling closer to Castiel, close enough his chest is nearly touching Castiel's arm, a hand settling between his shoulder blades for a moment.

A long moment.

She knows she should give them privacy, Dean waited until she left for a reason, she's just curious. Castiel has said much about Dean, but it's been hard to figure out just how they... fit together. She's oddly disappointed when Dean's hand just slides down a few inches before he steps away, picking up the last of the shopping bags. Cas looks after Dean with warmth in his eyes, expression soft, for a moment before going back to sorting and balling the socks like she showed him.

Cas had been at her elbow nearly the entire time, close but not uncomfortably so, silent as usual. He's nice to talk to; willing to speak just as much as listen. And he doesn't feel the need to fill the silences with stories and things she's missed over the past 30 years—unless she asks. She appreciates Dean's openness, but the look of guilt has yet to completely leave his eyes and she can't take it for long. He seems to understand when to stop, when she needs a moment to process everything, though.

And it's a lot to process.

She'd spent a good portion of the comfortable silence side eyeing Cas. Noticing the oddly fond look on his face, mouth quirked, blue eyes warm. It's not something she'd expect on an angel's face when looking at laundry.

Then again, Castiel has pretty much smashed any thoughts she ever had about angels. Their first moments hadn't been much to build off of, but the moment he knew who she was, the way looked between Dean and her as he said 'your mother', she could see the change in his demeanor. It hadn't changed much over the last few days, either. It's odd to receive such respectful attention from an angel (one who enjoys doing laundry and takes naps, no less), but she's adjusting.

She focuses on sorting through the bags when Dean enters the kitchen, the rest of the bags hanging from his hands. She eventually just stands out if the way, listening and watching, as Dean putters around, putting things away and thinking aloud about what to make for dinner.

When Cas pokes his head into the kitchen, Dean gives him a small, warm smile and waves him over to help with slicing, she figures she'll give them a moment and go finish the folding.

She smiles to herself as she walks away, Dean's bright laughter following her.


	30. ultramarine (rated K)

_Today's word:_  
Ultramarine  
ul·tra·ma·rine (ŭl′trə-mə-rēn′)

a brilliant pure blue color

 _This is probably the third attempt for this word before something came of it... it was a toughie. Between_ that, _the holidays and the deadline for the challenge being pushed back, the last two were a bit delayed (sorry, y'all). Finally, inspiration struck and we have this; a weird idea that popped into my head and needed to be written out. It's a bit repetitive, but I like to think it's part of the charm heh  
_

 _This chapter is rated **K+** (a bit of language but nothing too terrible). This chapter is an AU (no Supernatural stuff and Human Castiel)._

 _Enjoy._

* * *

Dance dad Dean Winchester watching YouTube hair tutorials so Emma's bun is smooth and tight and her french braid is perfect.

It took awhile to perfect, most videos aren't exactly shooting for the 'fumbling single dads with calloused hands working with soft little girl hair' demographic, but Dean Winchester is nothing if not determined when he sets his mind to a task. And his main task in life is to avoid Emma's tears because he's a screw up that doesn't know how to do a French twist or a fishtail braid or the perfectly done bun so her she's not singled out in dance class again.

(Take _that_ Janet Can't-even-do-a-simple-pony-tail-without-half-a-can-of-Aquanet Smith [if that's even her real name].)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester with at least two scrunchies around his wrist, hairspray in his back pocket and a line of bobby pins stuck on the hem of his shirt for emergency repairs.

His sparkly blue Caboodles case is stuffed full too, but that's safely tucked away in the corner of the room where he can keep an eye on it and use it to restock. Emma isn't the only one that will dance over and point to her falling bun or loosened french braid. He'd stopped freaking out about it, worried over touching a strange little girl, when one of the dance moms sidled over to watch his hands work the hair instead of eyeing him warily or ushering her daughter away from the strange man.

(Because everyone knows it was you, Sandy, that got all pissy about not being able to do a chignon as good as his, so just cool it about the bun sponge rumor, OK?)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester helping Emma with her moves after she stomps with frustration and flops onto the couch with a huff, declaring dancing 'a stupid waste of time'.

He isn't one to push if Emma's made up her mind, kid's got her old man's mile-wide stubborn streak after all, but he knows his daughter loves dancing and all too well recognizes that 'I suck at this so forget it' tone she also got from him. He's watched Emma practice enough to know the basics of the moves and he pokes his daughter until she gives an involuntary giggle and manages to flop herself upright with an annoyed huff. But she gets moving again, brows creased with concentration as she goes through the routine again.

(We're dancing to Warrant, Em, so just zip it and shake what your daddy gave ya.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester sucking it up and borrowing Sam's mom-van because Emma doesn't want any of her 5 best friends missing out on the trip to Build-A-Bear for her birthday. The 'cool dad' part of him knows he can easily fit 5 little girls in his car, but the 'reasonable and responsible dad' part knows there aren't enough seat belts and Emma's been safety conscious ever since some yahoo came into her class and gave a talk about safety. It's bad enough he's walking into a bright, stuffed animal world but he arrived there in a teal mini van with pop music blasting the whole way there. He tried not to sulk and consider this a horrible sacrifice in the name of fatherhood when Sam just smirked as he tossed the keys to him.

(Shut up, Sam, or I swear this thing will come back covered with more glitter than a strippers butt-crack and full of stuffed clowns.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester staying up until 1 AM putting the finishing touches on Emma's dance costume.

(And hot glue is friggin' hot, no false advertising there. He's handy with a needle since he's been fixing holy socks and torn seams since he was old enough to thread a needle and he's gotten damn good at stitching up little girl clothes to last another month, but somehow the sewing doesn't go any better; he's stabbed himself with the damn needle about five times trying to attach the tiny silver sequins. But at least there's no blood on the bright ultramarine booty shorts, matching halter top or fluffy feathers in Emma's headpiece. He never thought he'd miss tutus and tap shoes... He makes a mental note to talk with Becky in costume design about some damn sleeves next time.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester bringing the apple pie cupcakes and chai lattes when it's his turn.

(Yes, they're homemade and no you can't have the recipe, Gretchen.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester trying to sneak away from the pack of the dance moms, his cheeks ache from the fake-smiling and his fingers hurt from clenching them.

He doesn't mind some flirting now and again but some of them are married for crying out loud. And this isn't the place. He doesn't know what he'll do if one more heavily mascaraed eye gets batted up at him or one more manicured hand touches his pecs... He makes a hasty retreat and stands next to the only other dance dad, surprised he's not being surrounded because the guy is a looker and rumored to be single. He sidles closer as the new guy waves and smiles brightly at the clutzy but sweet little blonde named Claire before meeting his gaze with a polite smile and nod. There's the usual awkward moment of introductions that all the new parents go through, pointing out their kids through the glass window like some weird attempt at proof of them being there, before they go back to watching their daughters stumble their way through the newest hip hop steps.

They stay in the corner talking a little now and then, gazes on their kids. The idle chit chat going from polite small talk to actual conversation. It doesn't take long for Dean to see why no one was pestering the guy: dude's weird and a little intense as a first impression, often squinting with confusion and studying Dean closely a few times he tries to crack a joke. Luckily no one else bothers them the rest of the class and he's getting used to the quirks of Castiel. The silence is oddly comfortable as they watch Emma and Claire giggling and having fun, Claire's nerves about being 'the new girl' fading with Emma's help and Dean feels a burst of pride for his daughter. By the time they leave, Dean has another number in his phone and a promise to the girls for a 'play date'.

(No, Emma, I'm not in love with Castiel, we barely said five words to each other. Don't even start that crap when they come over later or I'm shaving your head.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester happy to show Cas all his hair styling tricks, saving poor Claire's hair when he shares the secrets of detangling spray and leave-in conditioner.

They've made a regular habit of hanging out, as much for the girls as for themselves since they get along and it's nice to be around adults. And now that they're friends, Dean doesn't bother to stifle his playful tsk as he takes in Claire's poor hair, untangling the rubber band and working knots out with his fingers. He's about to tease Cas a little but shuts up when he can tell Cas is moments away from having an emotional moment, probably missing the woman that handled such things _before_. He gives Cas' arm a supportive squeeze and tells Em to get her hair stuff.

Then it's a bit of organized chaos as they turn the kitchen into an impromptu hair salon since they won't all fit in his tiny bathroom. He talks with Cas over their daughters heads and the girls chat about... whatever. He stopped paying attention when he heard the dreaded word 'Shopkins' and hopes his selective deafness means he doesn't have to fork over more money for plastic canned peas with a damn face on it. The girls are in their own world, stools pushed close together as they compare check-lists and completely ignoring them. He's got Cas in his personal space, shoulders brushing since Cas is watching and listening intently as he walks Cas through a few styles and how to scrunch mousse in to help define Claire's wavy curls.

(I'm not blushing. Shut up, Claire.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester getting on the car-pooling bandwagon and getting in the habit of swinging by Cas' place on the way to dance practice. He wishes he'd known sooner that Cas' car was out of commission. It's not that out of the way and now Claire doesn't have to walk or take the bus in her dance gear. Plus, the extra 38 minutes with Cas is awesome. It's even better when they stop for burgers, sharing a fond look and rolling their eyes as the girls fuss over sharing their huge order of chicken nuggets down to the last crumb.

It becomes a bit of a routine even after Cas' car is fixed, they just trade off who drives. They decide to try different diners, Dean ignoring Emma's completely fake gasp of surprise when he doesn't complain since he's usually very vocal on his opinion about which places have the best food—and pie. Claire and Emma share the same side of the booth so they can giggle together, without having to lean over a table, and try each other's food. Dean doesn't mind squeezing in next to Cas, though, so he doesn't argue. When he realizes the waitress greets them by name, leading them to their usual booth near the back (away from the cold drafts but close enough they don't feel isolated) Dean realizes they failed at trying new places. Emma and Claire are the only ones looking over a menu since they're the only ones bothering to pretend at trying new things.

He leaves them to it and just relaxes in the booth and talks to Cas, Cas close enough their shoulders brush occasionally. He looks away from Cas long enough to settle a squabble about sharing; he points between them and tells them if Emma cuts, then Claire picks. Claire gives him a look that says he's a genius and he pretends not to notice Emma adjusting the butter knife to a more fair ratio. It's difficult to ignore the warm look Cas gives him, though he does his damnedest, and he clears his throat and focuses on eating his pie.

(I'm _not_ blushing. Shut up, Emma.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester does, in fact, have a huge crush on Cas.

He has a low-key freak-out moment when it dawns on him, feeling something like panic buzz hot and cold through his body when he considers the risks of doing anything about it and messing up things with his best friend. It's risky, but trying to hide it won't work since he knows Cas will be able to tell and that'll just make things worse. He paces and thinks, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he weighs the pros and cons of dating.

The worst that could happen is Cas doesn't feel anything but friendship and they just keep on keepin' on. The best case scenario... He fumbles for his phone, needing to find out, either way.

Thankfully, no one is around to witness his nervous fingers when he writes and deletes a text 5 times before muttering 'man up, Winchester, you can _do_ this,' and finally just ends up sending Cas a lame 'hey'. But Cas is quick to respond and it gets things going. It takes another 10 texts before he gets the nerve to mention hanging out, sans daughters, and he nearly drops his phone and does a victory dance when Cas is quick to respond back.

He stares at the 'I'd love to, Dean :)' far longer than is probably normal, cheeks hurting from smiling so damn long, but whatever— _Cas said yes_. Cas said yes, knowing it was a date. He's still staring when Emma wanders in to see him mooning over his phone like a loser. He doesn't hide his phone quick enough and Emma peeks over his shoulder, only to make a high-pitched sound and pump a fist in the air with a hissed ' _yes!_ '. He blinks a few times, still feeling stunned stupid, as she runs off with an excited shriek of "I gotta tell Claire!".

(Shut it, Emma, you didn't _call_ anything. Keep it up, kid, and I'm banning pudding for a week.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester standing on the side of the stage, thankfully hidden by the curtain, and going through the routine steps with the girls.

Normally, he's in the audience with all the other parents. This is usually Gretchen and Candi's gig, but Candi sprained something Zoomba-ing her ass into a bridesmaid's dress two sizes too small and Gretchen managed to get food poisoning at the only vegan place in town. He hadn't been able to say no when Jody asked him to fill in, mostly because Jody has a way about her that makes questions sound like statements and saying 'no' nearly impossible.

He keeps up with the steps and music, remembering to give an encouraging smile whenever any of the girls glance over to follow his lead. Cas is on the other side—because there was no way Dean was doing this alone—looking like a complete dork as he shimmies, hops and toe touches, but he's keeping up with the tempo and the steps are right. Still. He nearly loses it every time their eyes meet and Cas gives him that panicked 'how did I get talked into this?!' deer in headlights look even as he goes through the motions. Jazz hands never looked more ridiculous. Or a teensy bit adorable.

(One more crack about my booty-pop and you can do this yourself, Jody. It's flawless and awesome and you know it.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester being terrible at subtle or quiet, about anything.

He's known to shout and clap encouragement as the girls dance, he doesn't keep quiet about the petty power plays that sometimes go on among the parents'. And now he's basically holding Cas' hand as they watch through the big window as Claire and Emma stumble through new dance steps. He's not big on PDA and usually Cas is the one leaning in closer than socially normal or finding all sorts of tiny reasons to touch Dean. But he's feeling good today and that's invariably linked with touching Cas these days now that their dates sometimes mean the girls have a sleepover at Uncle Sam's. An accidental bump of his hand against Cas' leads to holding hands and Cas is too preoccupied, hand moving to clasp Dean's like second-nature, for Dean to complain about it.

Not that he really wants to. So he just relaxes against the wall, hand in Cas', and watches Emma dance with her tongue poking out of her mouth as she focuses on her feet.

Donna is the first to notice and Dean can't be anything but nice about it because Donna is awesome and always brings the best doughnuts (once they were still warm and he nearly embarrassed himself as he made sex sounds as he ate it). Besides, Donna has always been nice to Cas so Dean just gives her a grin when she looks over, her mouth dropping open when her gaze drops to their clasped hands. Donna sidles over, eyes shifty as she makes sure she's not drawing undue attention to them. He's waiting for shock, the 'awww' they sometimes get, or even some sort of smug 'I knew it!' like Sam had crowed, but Donna just gives him a bright smile and smacks his shoulder in a playful sort of congratulations with a look at Cas—who's completely absorbed in watching Claire and misses the entire exchange.

He eyes the bakery box in Donna's hands and happily takes a powdered cream doughnut with a sound of satisfaction when she opens the box. He bites into it and gives Donna a moaning eyeroll of pleasure in thanks. A few people turn to look but Dean just munches through his doughnut and chats with Donna until the girls finish up and come stumbling over, dragging their bags and looking exhausted. They perk up a little when Donna stuffs them full of fried sugar and they giggle over their dads' holding hands as they head to the car.

(Shut up about destination weddings and flowers, Em. No way, we're _not_ doing anything fussy like that—not that we're... doing. That. You shut up, too, Cas. Keep laughing, pal, and there's a lumpy sofa in your immediate future.)

✧ﾐ

Dance dad Dean Winchester and dance dad Castiel Novak groaning softly when both girls happy-dance and screech excitedly as they point out the flyer hanging up for the upcoming soccer season.

(I can't do coolers full of organic, non-GMO, gluten-free orange slices and tiny water bottles, Cas. I just can't. I'm a warrior! I need my high fructose corn syrup and preservatives.)


	31. gold (rated M - ABO AU, mpreg)

_Today's word:_  
Gold  
gold (/ɡōld/)

a deep lustrous yellow or yellow-brown color.

 _I figured I'd end this challenge with some smut lol_ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ _It's an ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) fic since I've seen the 'omega gold eyes' thing used in this trope before._ I _haven't used it before, but it's what popped into my head so I went with it._

 _There's gonna be some kinks, too: mpreg, pregnancy sex, pregnancy/breeding kink, and mentions of men wearing panties (which aren't new things for me lol but I figured I'd give a heads up for anyone new to my stuff. So, enjoy or no hard feelings if you run away screaming_ ಠ‿↼ _)._

 _This chapter is rated **M**. This chapter is an ABO AU._

* * *

He brushes his fingers over Cas' stomach, arousal zinging through him to see the muscles twitch under his fingertips. He caresses, enjoying the sight of Cas' twitching stomach. His twitching, _rounded_ stomach.

Fuck, but that turns Dean on like nothing he's ever experienced before. (And that includes the time Cas indulged him and tried on the little blue satin panties.) He drops to an elbow, leaning in to press his nose to Cas' shoulder and runs the pads of his fingers down heated skin, palming the soft swell. Laying down like this, Cas spread out indulgently, it's a bit more pronounced and his arousal kicks into overdrive. He needs to shuffle down the bed, kissing a path down Cas' body to mouth at the soft skin, tongue teasing around Cas' belly button. He's already hard and leaking, probably making little sticky trails all over Cas' thighs and the bed but he doesn't give a shit. Cas' hips roll and he arches a little, making noises that have Dean practically drooling and panting softly.

He'd barely gotten in the door before Cas was on him, eyes thinly ringed with gold and his scent nearly overwhelming, pajama pants tented and damp in patches. His mouth opened, ready to tease Cas a little about the comfy pants (the few pairs Cas likes to wear since they're soft and roomy enough for his growing belly), but any words were muffled when Cas practically attacked his face with an insistent mouth. He's still not sure how they ended up in their room, Cas naked and sprawled out under him on their bed, since the last thing he remembers with any clarity was Cas' sharp teeth on his lower lip and hot hands sliding down his pants.

"Like seeing me all fat with your pup, hmmm, Alpha?"

Dean swallows thickly and his eyes flutter closed with a soft groan. Fuckin' mouthy omega. Not that he can deny a damn thing; Cas knows him too well not to know how fucking turned on he is. Not to mention he's got a perfectly functional nose.

He glances up to meet Cas' eyes, everything in him going hot and possessive instinct when he sees the thick band of Omega gold in Cas' dark blue eyes. It doesn't happen often outside of Cas' heats and it's so thrilling to see it now. He runs a teasing hand down Cas' shaft and leaves a few wet kisses along Cas' belly, reveling in the sound Cas makes. He hadn't expected this sort of thing to do it for him or even that they'd actually be _here_ , like this; mated and expecting. But they are and it's hitting all sorts of buttons in his alpha brain that seem hard-wired right to his dick.

"Yeah. Yeah, Cas, I do," he admits, voice hoarse and low. He opens his eyes and aims a cocky grin up at Cas, winking obnoxiously as he shifts his hips to rub against Cas. He huffs a laugh when Cas' mouth drops open with a filthy moan and his eyes close so tightly his nose crinkles. As much as he loves to hear Cas talk like that, he's pretty much over his omega's mouth doing anything by make wrecked sounds or kiss the hell out of him.

He shifts Cas' legs up his arms, the backs of Cas' knees settling in his elbows perfectly, and presses closer, his pre-come sticky-slick head teasing against Cas' slicked cleft, catching teasingly on the down stroke. He leans down to nuzzle and nibble on Cas' neck, lips and teeth grazing the shiny bonding scar. Cas' fingers dig in and he adds a little more power in his next teasing thrusts when Cas starts moaning loudly, hips arching and wiggling for more. Hot fingers slide down, digging and scrabbling along his back as Cas tries to get him closer.

He's pretty sure Cas is seconds away from begging but he can't wait that long; he's too ramped up to tease. This teasing shit is just as bad for him and he's so done holding out. He lets go of Cas just long enough to guide himself as he slides in all the way in one hot, slick, easy glide.

Dean lets Cas' legs flop down so he can grab onto his Omega's hips, shifting Cas up nearly into his lap. He leans back a little, to enjoy the view and for a little leverage. Cas' legs quickly clamp around him again, knees tighten around him and he's done. He makes a sound deep in his throat as he leans in close, hands slapping the mattress on either side of Cas' head and works his hips, shoving and thrusting into Cas' with enough force to make his omega slide up the bed and bounce off the headboard.

The slap of Cas' hands on the headboard is loud, even over their combined heavy breathing and the erotic wet sound every time he moves. But it's enough to catch his attention, thoughts of Cas being in pain or discomforting filtering through the lust-fog in his brain. Especially with the way Cas' face is all scrunched up, his fingers white-knuckling the wood over his head. He stares at the gentle swell of Cas' belly, a little horrified he's being so rough but still turned the hell on seeing Cas so worked up. Oh god, is he shaking his pup around dangerously in there?

Dean stills, hands sliding up Cas' spread thighs until his hands are around Cas' hips, thumbs over Cas' hipbones, moving slowly in a gentle arc. "Cas?" Cas just hums, flushed chest heaving and eyes still closed with a blissed-out look on his sweaty face. Maybe he _was_ overdoing it... Dean leans forward a little, trying to get a closer look. It totally fucks up the awesome position they'd been in, but some things are more important. "You doin' okay?"

"Oh, yes, Dean," Castiel says, voice slightly slurred, almost sounding drunk on pleasure and endorphins. Pheromones. Hormones. What-the-fuck-ever; his body tingles and his toes will probably never uncurl. He cracks an eye open when he feels Dean's intense gaze on him, the gentle sweep of his hands across his stomach and chest. He smiles, lazy and perfectly content, when he sees lust and concern in those gorgeous green eyes.

He shivers pleasantly and lets his hands fall from their spot on the headboard to stretch his arms out from his body, back arching a little.

The movement is a reminder that Dean is still inside him. And frustratingly still. He clenches around Dean and taps his heel on Dean's calf like he's spurring on a horse. He chuckles when Dean groans, fingers tightening a little around his hips and his eyes flutter closed. "C'mon, Alpha," he teases, hitching a leg up Dean's body so he can rest his calf just above the swell of Dean's lovely ass. He flexes, jarring his alpha just enough to make them both groan and pant. "Fuck me good an' proper."

"And here I thought I was doing that," Dean says back, the breathy pants and uneven voice definitely ruins any snark he meant to have dripping from his words, but Cas gets the idea. Cas just makes that humming sound, eyes half closing as he stretches again, and looking like he's just waiting patiently for Dean to continue. He dives down, practically attacking the exposed column of his omega's neck and resuming his earlier pace. If Cas is OK with it hard and fast, he can so totally do that.

He's even starting to get used to how quick it goes now; just the tease of his knot growing and bumping against Cas is enough to do it. He's also getting used to the way Cas clutches at him, nails digging into his shoulders and the back of his neck as Cas pulls him closer, close enough to get his nose buried in Dean's neck as Cas muffles the sounds when he comes with a soft moan. It's like some sort of trigger for his own orgasm and Dean's following Cas even as Cas still twitches and moans with aftershocks. It takes some maneuvering to flop to the side and keep Cas' close, moving carefully so he doesn't pull out yet (another thing that's new).

It's sticky and a little uncomfortable once their breathing is relatively back to normal but Cas presses closer and makes that contented sound that Dean would do anything to hear. So, he holds Cas close and rubs soothing hands down Cas' back until Cas pulls away and makes a face, muttering 'shower'. He goes willingly when Cas pulls him up from the mess of sheets and into the bathroom.

* * *

 _(A/N: Thank you all for reading along [even though I came in super late at the end]. I appreciate each review, follow and favorite._ ❤️ _It was a fun experience but I'm relieved it's over now lol)_


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